Unconditional Surrender of the Heart
by The Auburn Girl
Summary: Amidst London's social elite, Belle first encounters him. She is fated to partake in the war. He is a wealthy capitalist from the United States, destined to remain behind. Will he let her go? Rumbelle AU set in WWII. Pre-DD Invasion. ON HIATUS see author's note on profile.
1. The Rabbit Hole

**Unconditional Surrender of the Heart**

World War II is in full-swing. Hitler has failed to destroy the Soviet Union and fears a second front with the west, aware of how terribly a two-front war turned out for Germany a generation earlier. The Allied units of Great Britain and the United States devise a plan to free France from German clutches, while the Soviet Union relentlessly continues its strategic offensive after Stalingrad. The Allies are forming a gutsy plan: an invasion on the beaches of Normandy—a full scale invasion of the Axis-controlled beaches of France. Hundreds of thousands of Allied troops are staging in Great Britain, waiting patiently for the news of war and readying themselves for the anticipated attack.

Among those amassing in Great Britain are hundreds of members of the Army Nurse Corps.

There these women are assigned to hospitals, aiding and providing care to soldiers and citizens who have been injured in the throes of war.

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**Chapter One: 'The Rabbit Hole'**

**3 April 1944**

Second Lieutenant Belle French calmly rushed down the whitewashed floors of Queen Charlotte's Hospital in West London. As she quickly proceeded down the hallway, attendants turned to follow her movements. Blood stained her once lovely uniform and her feminine hands, yet the blood was not her own. It came from a young boy who had been on the outskirts of London when an ineffective airstrike bombarded the building he had been living in.

_Damn the Luftwaffe. Damn them to hell._ The Royal Air Force had snapped into action, spitting into the horizon as if blasted out of hell itself. It hadn't taken long for them to shoot the bloody bastards out of the sky.

Yet Belle was not satisfied.

The poor lad had died in her hands. She'd done everything within her power to keep him alive—even growing impatient with Second Lieutenant Swan when she had shook her head upon viewing the lad's injuries. The boy's left leg had been blown off and left arm crushed by rubble. It had been a gruesome sight to behold: ragged tissue torn, cords of muscles trailing, blood spurting from the severed femoral artery, followed by the wailing moans of the patient...but Belle French had persevered. She'd set to work immediately, applying serious pressure to the stump that had accounted for what used to be the rest of his leg.

If she could only save him, she'd thought. Without a leg, he could still retain some semblance of his old life. The crushed arm would be a different matter, though. And the suspected internal bleeding would be difficult—if not impossible—to counter. If only she could save him...

It no longer mattered. The boy was dead. He'd only lasted thirty minutes due to the massive amount of blood loss he'd sustained. Belle had watched as the essence of light faded from his hazel eyes. With mouth open wide in a silent scream, the boy had drawn his last breath and had ceased to exist. Dimly, she'd wondered how many unfortunate souls had passed so horribly into death.

War was hell, she decided. It was not for those who had heard the shots fired or the shrieks and groans of the wounded. It did not contain glory. Nothing like it could be glorious. She'd heard countless sobs, countless last words uttered on a final breath...

"Belle, let's change those clothes of yours."

"What?" Belle mumbled, stopping in her tracks to perceive the woman before her.

It was Second-Lieutenant White. With beautiful mouth turned down in a worried grimace, she tugged Belle into an unoccupied room. Her green eyes were sincere and intent on the azure orbs staring at her through gaunt eyeholes. "He is in a better place now. We must not mourn for those who have passed on to God."

Belle brushed her forehead with the back of her hand, unknowingly streaking blood across her porcelain face. "I know, Mary Margaret. I know... I just fancied a stroll is all."

Pity lightened Mary Margaret's features when her eyebrows knit together. "Let's clean you up." She walked over to a nearby basin and dipped a cloth into the bowl before dabbing it gently over Belle's nose, cheeks, and forehead. When the blood no longer tarnished Belle's countenance, she continued on to Belle's shaking hands. "Ruby, Emma, and I are heading out for the night. I thought it would be a good idea if you tagged along?" She was attempting to get Belle's mind off the image of the struggling boy—of the boy's innocent eyes. "Davie has reserved us a table at this high-end place in Belgravia. It's where all the wealthy and powerful men go to have good food and drink and talk politics. It's called 'The Rabbit Hole'. I know you've heard of it?"

"Yes... I don't know MM... I think I'd rather go back home and read."

"Ruby won't take 'no' for an answer. Please come with us? Davie will be happy to see you again; he enjoyed your intelligent conversation."

Lieutenant-Colonel David Nolen of the United States 4th Infantry Division was a man who was destined to rise through the ranks. Honorable, steadfast and honest, and loyal to the end—the man was definitely noticeable, and noticeable enough to have connections. He must have worked hard to attain a reservation at 'The Rabbit Hole'. The restaurant was one of the most expensive in the city. Surely, a night out with the girls would do her some good as Mary Margaret had said? It had been awhile since they had ventured out under the lights of the historic city, primarily because of the curfew. However, when they were accompanied by Davie and his Captain, Lancelot Harley, they were permitted to go out.

"I think you should come with us," Mary Margaret persisted and then added, "Don't make me pull Ruby into this. That girl will show you no mercy."

She was right. Ruby Edwards hailed from Yorkshire and had a wicked tongue (and sense of humor) that could strip a person to the bone or be as persuasive as Peitho. The girl was frank and straightforward and never retreated from a fight or dare. One day, she would get them all into trouble, but for now, she was the only person Emma, Mary Margaret, and Belle were friends with outside the Army Nurse Corps.

"You're a sly doll," Belle muttered, secretly pleased. Mary Margaret had become one of her closest friends since their deployment to Europe. They had trained together over in the States for several months before being shipped out to Great Britain along with Emma Swan.

Mary Margaret grinned. "Let's get you into your uniform." Luckily, when the boy had arrived, Belle had been dressed in the hospital's standard nursing clothing. Her NC uniform was stowed safely away in their private changing rooms. "When you're changed and all set, we'll leave; the shift's over, and I'm starving. _And _we have to dress our best."

"I'm quite excited," Belle lied meekly, envisioning in her mind's eye the sight of the boy's mutilated arm and shredded stump. She had a strong stomach, but she'd be stretching it by eating anything heavy. Maybe a few glasses of champagne would sooth and uncoil the tightening in her stomach.

They abandoned the empty room and walked briskly past another row of cots and private rooms for officers. Flustered nurses and somber attendants could be heard whispering words of comfort to those in pain and suffering. In most cases, the patient would beg for someone to accompany him in what he knew to be his last moments. It almost frightened Belle how desperate some of them sounded. It made her question how she, herself, would die.

If she had the power to choose how and where she would die, she would choose to die of old age on her family's remote farm in the Plains of Virginia, just under the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, near the historic city of Manassas where the Battles of Bull Run had taken place. Virginia...was her personal safe haven. Its rolling hills and shimmering creeks encompassed by pine trees intermingled with oaks were enough to make her swoon.

Never was there a dull moment in Virginia. One could drive out into the countryside and return to civilization by train and journey onward to Washington D.C. The change of seasons was another thing to look forward to. In Great Britain, the drizzling rain was a constant companion. Snow and sleet often said hello, too...but in Virginia, summer stretched lazily, blanketing the valleys in a humid sheet. But before things became overbearing, autumn would announce its presence through the altering colors of the leaves and the cool breeze; green leaves gradually crackled into various shades of red, orange, and yellow. Snow sheathed the land when winter came, offering an escape into an untouched wonderland, and spring bloomed bright and early afterward.

Perhaps it _was_ her greatest fear to die here—to die in the war, far away from comfort and familiarity. Because...despite the fact that she had Emma, Mary Margaret, and Ruby, she was truly alone. The boy—without family at the moment of his death—had struck Belle's heart. She didn't want to die alone or in war. There was so much more than this war.

_Just kill Hitler and get it over with_._ If he dies, Germany goes up in flames._

And the prospect of dying at the unforgiving hands of war was serious and present. It was very likely (a high possibility) that she and her companions could die. In months, they would be in enemy territory; that much was certain. Was she ready to face the horrors of the battlefield? For weeks, she'd been second-guessing herself. She wasn't so sure anymore.

_Do the brave thing and bravery will follow_.

Belle sighed audibly, closing their changing room's door in relief when they finally reached it. "Where are Emma and Ruby?"

"They're waiting for us down in the lobby—so we best hurry up." Mary Margaret began to shamelessly strip Belle of her blooded white uniform. "You'll have to take a quick bath to get all this caked stuff off your skin," she added, gesturing to the dried blood crusted into her glowing, white skin, "before we head out for 'The Rabbit Hole'."

"I don't want to be trouble. You three go; I'll stay behind."

"No." Mary Margaret had never sounded so adamant. The girl was putting her foot down. "I don't want you alone, Belle. Anyway...someone has to keep a tight leash on Ruby; you're good at that."

A genuine smile graced Belle's full lips. Ruby was a wild one. She could drink a number of alcoholic beverages and still come out standing upright in the end. The problem was that she transformed into a huge, vivacious flirt when she was tipsy, and men in uniform loved a drop-dead-gorgeous flirt when they saw one. If not for her headstrong and protective friends, there was no doubt that she would have fucked her way up the coastline by now.

In the beginning of their friendship, it had shocked Belle at how flamboyantly easily Ruby had flaunted her sex-appeal. Belle had grown up in a sheltered society. Modesty had been ingrained into the back of her mind from an early age; her father would not stand for inappropriate behavior. He'd claimed that prostitutes acted that way. Nevertheless, if there was a girl that could make Belle hoot with laughter at her silliness, it was Ruby. Now that didn't mean Belle agreed with all of Ruby's antics. She'd merely learned to accept them.

"_That_ I can do."

Mary Margaret was very mindful when she pulled Belle's blouse from her flesh. She tried to keep as much blood as possible from her friend's skin. "Here," she said, handing Belle her NC blouse before tossing the hospital's stained garment into a nearby bin. She did not intervene when Belle disrobed her long, pallid skirt and traded it for her dark green Nurse Corps skirt. Buttoning it, she progressed to fit on her jacket and finger the golden buttons into place.

When Belle was snug and appropriate, Mary Margaret set her thin cap on her head followed by her own on her long ebony waves. "There. We are presentable to the public eye. Let's go."

They caught Ruby and Emma chatting amiably in a lonely corner of the small lobby. Ruby was dressed in a modest dress with a heavy coat, while Emma boasted the NC uniform proudly on her picturesque figure. "What took you two so long?" Ruby questioned in her Yorkshire accent. Since their two month stay in London, her accent had mellowed out and become less harsh, but she hadn't lost the particular accent just yet.

"We were just changing up," Mary Margaret told her. "Has Dr. Whale been informed of our departure?"

"Yes," Emma nodded. Her sharp green eyes were on Belle. She'd seen her friend go into a frenzy to save the young boy, and from experience, she knew of Belle's tendency to unreasonably beat herself up when she failed. "Davie sent a telegram saying he'll be at our apartment by seven. Are you coming with us, Belle?"

"I'd not disappoint Davie," Belle managed, looping her arm through Ruby's.

With permission, they exited Queen Charlotte's Hospital and deposited themselves out onto the cold, wet streets. Billboards and posters littered the walls and dilapidated buildings, enthusiastically promoting food rationing, nursing, and nationalism. Overhead, the sky was darkening. It was a rare night because it wasn't raining.

Men and women drove purposefully down the sidewalks, concentrating on their destination. People were rarely seen strutting down the streets with entertainment in mind. They had business they needed to conduct or families they had to return to at night.

It was a time of war, and Great Britain had undergone trying periods. The Battle of Britain had greatly affected the country's inhabitance. Hundreds of buildings had been reduced to rubble from the bombing raids of the _Luftwaffe_, leaving people homeless and jobless. Many citizens had died.

The girls traversed through the chilly night, nodding to passersby.

"So when are you and Davie finally going to get married?" Ruby asked playfully, smirking. Mary Margaret colored, ducking her head to stare at her feet and possibly ignore the question. "Oi, you can't hide it. We all see it. You're in love with him."

"We're at war, Ruby, and he's about to go across the channel."

"Best time to get it done and over with, then!"

"Ruby, best leave it be," Emma cautioned her.

"And what about you, Belle? You've never expressed interest in any of the soldiers. At least Emma has her eyes on Jeffy."

Emma closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with one hand. Jefferson Hatter was a touchy subject that she didn't desire broached.

"None of them have caught my eye, Rubes. I'll let you know when one does." She might as well jump into a pit of fire; to her, a man in uniform was simply a man in uniform. Davie and Jefferson were the exception because they were sincere and respectful to Mary Margaret and Emma.

"Well—you're always reading away in our apartment; you've got to get out more."

Belle quirked an eyebrow, somewhat offended, "Did you just insult my books and my hobby?"

"Yes, I did," Ruby affirmed, smiling now. They both broke out into giggles.

Mary Margaret and Emma were relieved that the subject had moved on from love-life. They didn't interrupt for fear of Ruby's attention.

"Books are wonderful, Ruby," Belle said, feeling jovial now, "Perhaps you should try them sometime? They are _brimming _with romance—something you'd surely enjoy?"

"Oh please... Do they fuck?"

"Shh!" Mary Margaret and Emma reprimanded Ruby's use of the crude word, looking around to give apologetic looks to people who had overheard them. Dirty looks were shot their way.

Belle's smile broke, and she was mortified. "What?"

"Do your books contain sexual situations between characters? Because, if they do, I'll read them."

"Do I look like a girl who reads that content?"

At this, Ruby belted out a laugh. "No, I guess not."

"Please. No more," Emma sighed, and then added, "Ruby, we won't allow that language at 'The Rabbit Hole'."

Not daunted, Ruby winked. "I hear they have wonderful red wine from the 20s."

"I think we should set a limit. Two drinks, Ruby. Just two drinks," Mary Margaret voiced, no longer engaged with the ground.

Ruby looked horrified. "Really, girls?"

Belle chuckled but was thankful to Mary Margaret, "I second that notion."

"Two drinks at the most," Emma confirmed, daring Ruby to object. "We have a rough day tomorrow, and I don't believe any of us wants to deal with you hung-over, Rubes."

Ruby hung-over was a sight to behold.

"I despise you all."

Belle, Mary Margaret, and Emma couldn't hold back their chortles.

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Six blocks later, they arrived at their apartment complex. It was aged and certainly not the grandest of places, but it was standard enough to live in. None of the girls complained because negativity would not be productive; they had been assigned to this building and there was nothing they could do to change that. Also, it had been a miracle that Ruby had been permitted to live with them. If they asked for a relocation, Ruby would not be able to move and cohabit with them.

Inside the immediate entrance was First-Lieutenant Gus Walker, who made sure the women living in the complex were not disturbed or harmed by intruders. He sat, bent over a file of paperwork, underneath a flickering lamp and peered up when he heard the doors open. "Hello, ladies."

"Sir," they nodded. Ruby licked her lips seductively at him, earning a prod from Emma.

Their room was on the second level of the building, so they climbed the stairs—treading lightly up the echoing, dim stairwell. The second-floor hallway was barely lit by two dangling ceiling lamps. It was slightly damp and stuffy, and in some corners hid rotting material and wet stains. Even in the darkness, they could discern their apartment's door.

Emma dug in her pocket to withdraw their key, and she opened the plain door with a little shove. Mary Margaret flicked on the light switch, illuminating the memorized scene before them.

Their humble quarters consisted of two main rooms: the living room/kitchenette and the bedroom. A dingy sofa sat in a far-off corner, facing a plain table that was accompanied by a few wooden chairs. To the right was a compact kitchen equipped with a shallow sink and effective stove.

Ruby shut the door behind them, bolting the lock back into place.

"We have thirty minutes," Mary Margaret announced, taking a peep at her inexpensive wristwatch. "Belle needs the tub, and I'll help her get some heated water into it. Emma, can you set out my evening dress?"

"Mhm."

Belle frowned and said, "MM, I can manage by myself."

"It'll go by a lot faster if I help you get the bath ready," Mary Margaret did not listen to her and shuffled her into their sanctioned-off bathroom. "We have to get all that blood off you."

It was fifteen minutes later when Belle emerged from the bathtub, wiped off, and was clean of dried blood. By this time, Mary Margaret and the others had dressed in their finest ensemble; Mary Margaret now wore a light blue dress that reached past her knees, Emma had decided to go with her green dress that fit her figure the best, and Ruby had stuck close to her name by dressing in a dark red modest dress that was tight around her skinny middle.

They ushered Belle into her deep blue dress to accentuate her azure eyes.

"I swear to God, that dress makes your eyes pop," Ruby stated, brushing back Belle's curled locks. "It's like I'm staring into the Pacific."

"You've never even _seen_ the Pacific," Emma caught her.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Doesn't mean I can't dream about it, eh?"

"Davie and Lance will be here soon. Let's head down and meet them outside."

"Grab a light coat."

"I thought we were taking a cab?"

"We _are_ taking a cab. Davie said it in the telegraph, but bring a coat anyway. Better safe than sorry, as they say."

Emma led the way out of their small apartment and locked the door.

"So is Jeffy meeting us there?" Ruby pressed, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Emma groaned under her breath and was tempted to push Ruby ahead of her down the stairs. "He said he was meeting with important capitalists for dinner. He didn't say where, though. I saw him yesterday. It's...complicated."

"How are things _complicated _between you two?"

"Well, Ruby, not all of us can be as straightforward as you."

Ruby's eyes flashed, "What's that supposed to mean, Emmy?"

"Enough—both of you," Mary Margaret interjected, holding open the door to show them Davie and Lance's presence.

Both men were dressed in their finest military suits with the proper insignias and belts. Lieutenant-Colonel Nolen was tall and muscular with sky-blue eyes that sparkled. His friend, Captain Lancelot Harley was even more intimidating; he had at least thirty pounds on the Lieutenant-Colonel.

"Ladies," Davie bowed his head in reverence, taking off his cap and placing it under his arm. "You are all stunning this evening." He leaned forward to kiss Mary Margaret's hand. "Darling..."

"Davie," Mary Margaret breathed, smiling widely.

Lance managed a soft smile that reached his ember eyes. "Emma, Ruby, Belle...how are you?"

"Rough day, but we can't complain," Emma responded first, accepting his hand to help her down the step. "That bombing killed thirteen."

"I heard," Lance said grimly before shifting to aid Belle and Ruby down the final step. "How about you, Ruby? Belle?"

"Wonderful," Ruby crowed, ecstatic that she was going to a high-class restaurant with renowned alcohol.

"Fine, thank you...and you, Lance?"

"I am well, Belle. David, shall we be off then?"

Davie broke contact with Mary Margaret's eyes. "Yes. We would not want these ladies chilled." Moving athletically, he swung open the black cab's door and assisted the women into the back seat. There was enough room for him to sit next to Mary Margaret, and Lance offered to sit up front with the cabbie. "To 'The Rabbit Hole', if you please."

The cabbie took off.

"How are things with the war?" Mary Margaret ventured.

"Soviet troops are pushing in from the east, slamming the Germans. It's our hope that we can begin a second front against Hitler soon; that'd give him something to _really _think about. Imagine having to handle the Soviet Union from the east and us from the west. If we can establish two fronts, then it'd be only a matter of time before they fell, like in World War I."

"It can't come fast enough," Emma grumbled. "Promise me that you'll help make those Nazis pay."

A smile reached Davie's lips. "I promise, Emma. We'll _all _make them pay."

"Have you heard those rumors about the 'concentration camps'?" Ruby suddenly queried, quieting the cab. "I heard from a few nurses today that they gas prisoners and then burn the bodies or bury them in mass graves, but there hasn't been confirmation..."

"I've heard that, too..."

Belle felt sick and begged: "Please...let's not speak of such morbid things until we are certain they are actually true." No one spoke. "I think we've all had enough of that excitement for one day."

"No more about the war," Mary Margaret agreed, squeezing Belle's fisted hand to reassure her. "We're going to enjoy tonight. Thank you again for inviting us, Davie."

"How else would I want to spend my night other than surrounded by beautiful young women?"

"Oh stop it," Mary Margaret laughed, slapping him on his shoulder. The mood was lightened.

"One would say you are taking liberties," Belle taunted, ticking her finger at him, but smiling nevertheless. "Is it in your nature to take advantage of young women, Lieutenant-Colonel? How much did you have to bribe the owner to reserve a table?"

"Actually, Belle, it's an interesting story."

"Oh? Please, enlighten us."

Davie cleared his throat. "I have a connection with the owner. His name is Geppetto Adami, and he has a son named August Pinocchio—funny middle name, I know. Well, August is a Colonel in the British Army, and he and I met two weeks ago. He is a good man, and I believe he enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed his because he invited me to meet his father. He told me that his father owned a restaurant in Belgravia called 'The Rabbit Hole' and that I was to bring my friends. Of course, I'd heard of 'The Rabbit Hole', and I knew how expensive it was. I informed him honestly that I could not afford something of that caliber. August laughed and said it would be on him; he told me to invite all my lady-friends."

"So he appears to be a gentleman?" Emma pondered, joining in on the conversation.

"Quite."

A gentleman that Davie approved of? Belle was pleased that she hadn't stayed behind. "I'm curious to meet him," she admitted. "Any man worthy of your praise must be a gentleman indeed."

"You flatter me, Belle. Lancelot likes him as well. I took him to meet August a few days ago when we planned this meeting. We spoke very highly of you all, so August is eager to see you all in person."

"So _Ruby_," Emma stated dramatically, looking at her friend, "must promise to be on her best behavior."

"Come off it, I'm not bad."

"Two drinks," Mary Margaret reminded, holding up two fingers.

Ruby growled in displeasure before letting loose a long breath. "Buggers... I promise."

Davie gave a surprised snicker, drawing their attention back to him. "Oh—I find it amusing that you girls gave yourselves a limit."

"Do we look like drunkards?" Emma asked rhetorically, chuckling along with him.

"My point entirely."

"Then I can have more than two drinks?" Ruby begged, hopeful.

"We're trying to impress this August fellow, Rubes. I would say the last thing we needed was you drunk _or _tipsy. The man would not know what to do with you clawing your hands up his chest," Emma teased, laughing fully this time. Belle joined in, hugging Ruby to assure her that they loved her.

"We are here," Lancelot's deep voice reported from the front seat. He and the cabby hadn't joined in throughout the whole ride.

Belle, who had not been attentive to the shifting environment outside the cab, gazed in awe at the scene that was before them. Unlike the borough they were living in, this district was fantastically wealthy. The streets were all shinning cobblestone. Lamps cast a welcoming glow on people roaming the sidewalks, and most of these travelers exuded an air of wealth. White-washed, grandiose buildings lined the streets, towering over the trees planted in nearby parks. Wilton Crescent was down the road a ways.

The cab had halted before a two-story building encased in white brick and gilded at the edges in bright, shinning metal. A vaulted, stone overhang protected those entering from the rain. '_The Rabbit Hole_' was written in clear script on the entrance.

"Impressive," Emma breathed.

"Indeed," Davie agreed, opening his door before a valet had the opportunity. He took each of their hands and assisted them out one by one. Directly after he aided Emma from the cab, a loud voice called out:

"David, Lancelot—right on time!"

The entire party pivoted to see who had pointed out a few of its members.

"August," Davie called genially to the man descending 'The Rabbit Hole's' stone steps.

The man was ruggedly handsome with close-cropped brunette hair and intense blue eyes. He was built solidly, stood an inch lower than Davie, and was dressed in his arresting British uniform. Good-naturedness radiated off of him in waves, setting Belle's nerves instantly at ease.

"And you have brought beautiful company as well," August said, allowing his eyes to shamelessly roam over the faces of Mary Margaret, Emma, Ruby, and Belle. His English accent was tranquilizing. "I do believe I deserve an introduction," he added, bowing his head slightly to Davie for the go-ahead.

"Sir, I introduce you to Miss Mary Margaret White," Davie began, giving ample time for August to kiss Mary Margaret's hand, "Miss Ruby Edwards...Miss Emma Swan...and finally, Miss Belle French." August Adami bestowed them each a kiss on their right hand. "They are all Second-Lieutenants in the Army Nurse Corps."

"Pleasure to meet you all. I am Colonel August Adami... Let us leave behind the night. Our table is set and ready to host our lovely company. Miss French—" He offered Belle his arm, and she shyly gripped his forearm, following him inside. As they went, he related over his shoulder: "David, Lancelot, I do believe you will be interested in the men who are present this evening. We have many capitalists, politicians, and military personnel seated and dancing on the floor. I will have to tug my father away from his talk to be able to introduce him to you all."

Belle looked around. She had not known the extent of wealth this restaurant boasted, but she now ascertained that 'The Rabbit Hole' was high-toned and steeped in big money. The floors were layered with thick, pristine carpets; underneath the carpets was immaculate, glowing marble. The furniture inside the lobby was made of European Lime and had exquisite carvings of rabbits prancing in meadows. Further beyond the main entrance, she saw expensive paintings strategically places along the main hallway. She guessed that the main hallway led to the inner-seating, tables, and dance floor because ballroom music and conversation wafted from that direction.

August caught Belle's stare and smiled. "Are you impressed, Miss French?"

"Quite," Belle managed through her awe, warming up to the man.

"I am glad. My father worked hard to bring this restaurant to the position it is now."

Belle glanced behind her to see Mary Margaret and Ruby on Davie's arms and Emma being led by Lancelot.

"Permit me to take your coat?" August asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. Belle unbuttoned her coat and circled so that her back faced his chest. Electricity shot down her spine when his hands smoothly went down her shoulders, removing her of her coat. He handed it safely to a butler. "Your dress is lovely."

"Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Miss Edwards, may I take your coat?" He offered to Ruby as Davie relieved Mary Margaret of her own coat. Lancelot gave the butler Emma's jacket. When everyone was comfortable, August led them down the hallway, chatting benevolently with each of them in turn. He started with Belle: "Miss French, where are you from?"

"Virginia. I grew up there as a young girl and never left—not until now."

"I see... How is London to your liking?"

"I am not a city girl, Sir—"

"August. Call me August," he stopped her. "I will not be 'Sir' to my guests."

"Then call me Belle," she granted him.

"Belle...I apologize for my interruption. You said that you were not a city girl?"

"Yes. In the city, I feel somewhat overwhelmed, but I've managed."

They reached the end of the hallway, and Belle had to hold in a gasp at the sights, noises, and smells that bombarded her senses.

The main restaurant was immense—so much so that she wondered how the building could account for the size of this internal, cavernous room. Circular, cloth-covered tables littered the room in orderly rows with equal space in between. Seated at the tables were men and women of importance; they talked animatedly amongst themselves, sipping their alcoholic beverages and eating expensive dishes. In the center of the room was a sizeable, polished dance floor. There couples waltzed and twirled and dipped, listening to the music of the small musician's ensemble. The powerful spices in the room almost made her dizzy.

The room was lit by lamps intermingled with candles, and the effect of solid, sure light intertwined with flickering licks of flame was almost magical.

Belle was unable to breathe until August seated her at their table, which was stationed adjacent to the dance floor and among a sea of high-class men and their wives or companions. Brilliant candles were placed in the center, and her eyes honed in on their glow over the cream-color sheets of the table.

"You appear startled, Belle."

"I am pleasantly surprised," she corrected him, looking around the room in admiration. Their entrance had summoned the attention of numerous inhabitants and she caught the gaze of optimistic young men before dropping her eyes.

August proceeded to speak with Emma, Ruby, and Mary Margaret and then cast himself into fervent conversation with Davie and Lancelot. Their words were layered with politics and news of the war effort.

They hardly recognized when their waiter stood patiently, asking them what they wished to drink, later returning to agree on a full course meal with August.

The men ordered something strong, while the women chose to go easy on their first glass, ordering champagne and a glass of red wine for Ruby.

"I feel so inept," Mary Margaret murmured to Emma and Belle.

"Just be polite and well-mannered and you'll make it out alive," Emma said quietly, sipping at her glass of champagne.

"Don't worry, MM. If there is anyone here who will make a fool of herself, it will be me," Belle joked half-heartedly.

"Emma!" someone drew their attention.

Emma twisted in her seat, moaning unhappily under her breath when she saw who had called her. Tall and handsome with mischievous sea-green eyes... It was Jefferson, and he was making his way across the dance floor toward their table. "Fuck me..." Emma hissed so softly that Belle was the only one to hear her.

Belle stifled a laugh. She disliked the vulgar word, but when Emma said it so vehemently under her breath, it became bearable and even funny.

"I saw you come in," Jefferson explained, stooping to catch Emma's hand and kiss it. "David, Lance...it's good to see you." His eyes trailed over his friends before resting on August. "Sir," he walked to August's side and August stood to meet him, "I don't believe we have been introduced. Lieutenant-Colonel Jefferson Hatter."

"Colonel August Adami. You are a friend of Emma's?"

"Yes. I am friends with everyone in this party."

"Good to see you, Jeff," Davie said, standing to shake his friend's hand. Lancelot followed suit.

"Do you mind if I borrow Emma and Belle? With their approval, that is."

"Absolutely," August said, spreading his arms wide. "Our food will not arrive for some time. When it does, I must insist that they return."

"Yes, Sir... Mary Margaret..Ruby, how are you?" He listened to their responses before shifting his eyes to the other two. "Emma, Belle...I'd like to introduce you to my party."

"Why are you inviting Belle?" Emma questioned suspiciously. She was still angry at her lover. Belle had tried to coax information out of her earlier in the week, but Emma had never capitulated and told her what had happened with Jefferson.

"One of my companions has asked to be introduced to her. Belle, you are welcome to remain here if that is your wish."

"No, that's alright," Belle assured him, standing and urging Emma up after her. She would not brave a table of capitalists without Emma's company.

"I didn't know you would be here," Emma shot at Jefferson. Jefferson shrugged and gave her an apologetic look.

"Well, to be fair, you were the last person I expected to see walk through that doorway."

They walked on the outskirts of the dance floor with Jefferson guiding the way. When it became clear which table they were going to visit, Emma straightened up as if struck by lightning. Belle didn't understand her friend's reaction. The table they were rapidly converging on seated four men and one woman. There were no military men among them, only wealthy capitalists, and she had no idea who these people were.

Upon their arrival, the men stood respectfully. "Gentlemen...Lady Nora...I introduce you to Miss Emma Swan and Miss Belle French," Jefferson announced. Two chairs had been drawn up for them, and he seated them. "I will start from this side of the table. Emma...Belle...this is Lord Midas Cooper and his lovely wife Lady Nora... Monsieur Gaston Platte..." Gaston's eyes were fixated on Belle. "Lord Leopold King...and Mister Nicholas Gold... I must depart for a moment, but I shall return." Jefferson left them and melted into the restaurant.

The final occupant of the table, Nicholas Gold, nodded to Emma and Belle but said nothing. Out of all the members, he seemed to be the most regal and intimidating. His chocolate brown eyes were serious and gave the impression that he was not a man to be trifled with. He was not tall or overly muscular but achieved a higher level of grace than the other men. He was different, Belle noted. He wore his slightly graying hair longer than most and listened intently. And his suit was the finest and best tailored.

Belle suddenly wished she knew who he was. She'd heard his name somewhere before...

"We are Second-Lieutenants in the Army Nurse Corps," Emma was saying. "I come from Tallahassee, Florida. Belle's family is from Virginia."

"And how long have you been in London?" Lord Leopold pondered, leaning back in his chair.

"Two months. We work at Queen Charlotte's Hospital and are waiting for new orders."

"Do you enjoy London, Mademoiselle?" Gaston Platte targeted Belle. He had a heavy French accent.

Somewhat disgruntled by Nicholas Gold's presence, Belle had to take a steady breath before looking Gaston in the eye. "To be honest, I do not like cities. I come from the countryside, so the new environment can be overwhelming at times. Yet...I do love history and the city is steeped in it."

"Have you visited ze historic sights?"

"I have not had the pleasure." The disappointment in Belle's voice was unmistakable.

"Zat is unfortunate...for zer are plenty of sights you may be interested in."

"I suppose I will have to wait until the war is over before I can fully enjoy Europe."

Emma snuck in a remark: "If this war is ever over."

Before Gaston could continue to press his conversation with Belle, Lord Midas Cooper purred: "And what is your opinion of this _glorious_ war, Miss Swan?"

Belle could not believe what she'd just heard. There had been no sarcasm in his tone.

"Excuse me? Did you call this war 'glorious'?" Belle challenged, appalled. She completely forgot about Nicholas Gold, who now gazed severely at her.

"Not now, Belle," Emma whispered, elbowing Belle in the ribs, but Belle was not going to retreat that easily. Her bewitching cerulean eyes were set on Lord Midas Cooper. The old man ran his gnarled hands down the lapels of his suit, meeting her stare.

"I did, Miss French. Is this war not glorious?" He sounded condescending, as if he did not care of Belle's opinion.

"My Lord, if you have seen the carnage that we deal with on a daily basis, you would say otherwise. I am not even on the frontlines, and I am horrified by what I see every day. It is not easy or glorious watching a child die from the hazards of war. It is not glorious hearing his pleas of mercy before he dies."

"People die all the time, Miss French. War merely speeds up the process."

She was sick, sick to her stomach. This man viewed war as a means to an end-a way for him to become wealthier. Forget about the hundreds of thousands (millions) of lives lost. Forget about those suffering. Lord Midas Cooper did not care. And what sickened her even more was the fact that no one was speaking up on her behalf. Lady Nora was sticking by her husband and gave her an icy look. Emma was probably as infuriated as she was, and therefore, was unable to speak. And by the glare Belle caught in Emma's eyes, she could tell that she _was _disgusted.

Oh how Belle wished she had stayed behind with her books...

"You are correct, My Lord. People _do _die all the time, and war _does _speed up the process...but that does not make it glorious. War is hell," Belle defended herself. "No amount of money or profit made can account for the bloodshed that takes place in war."

For the first time, Nicholas Gold spoke: "You have made your point, My Dear." His voice was gentle and deep and held a Scottish brogue. Belle's eyes connected with his grave ones. "You must forgive Lord Midas' foolish statement." A warning laced his words, and it was directed at the Lord himself. "He does not know how to speak with guests properly."

Lord Midas might have snarled if not for the deadly glare Gold used to silence him. They were not friends. That much was clear.

A rush of gratitude toward Mr. Gold, for his intervention, washed over Belle. Still, she could not find her tongue to give him her thanks.

She was saved from the prospect by Jefferson's return. "I apologize. Colonel Brooks is a demanding man. I hope Miss Swan and Miss French have kept you entertained?"

"_Very_ entertained, you might say," Lord Leopold chuckled, and Belle thought he didn't care for Lord Midas as well.

Jefferson resumed conversation with the men, speaking about business and deals. While the men were distracted (well, almost all of them except for Mr. Gold and Gaston Platte; their eyes flitted back to Belle every now and then), Emma grasped Belle's trembling hands in her lap. "It will be okay," she said very softly. "Our food should arrive soon...and then we're free."

Belle nodded. Her eyes roamed over the dance floor, where couples were now doing a lesser version of Swing Dancing. Moments before, they had been waltzing about the room. One of the guests must have requested they play something more lively. She caught sight of Davie moving expertly with Mary Margaret. Both of them were glowing with gaiety.

"Do you dance, Miss French?" Mr. Gold abruptly addressed her. Apparently, the men's conversation had paused. Belle's eyes flew to his. Azure met amber, and she saw fascination there. A smile was tugging at the corner's of his thin lips, as if he was amused by her. With hands tented beneath his chin, he nodded toward the dance floor before recapturing her stare. "Your gaze was fond just now."

"I love to observe them," Belle said, feeling embarrassed and out of depth before this man. "And my gaze was fond because I have friends dancing on the floor."

"But you did not answer my question, Dear," he pressed smoothly. "Do you dance?"

Blushing, Belle responded honestly, "I do."

"Then perhaps—" but he was unable to finish, for August had swooped down on them.

"Emma, Belle, our food awaits—ah Lieutenant-Colonel Jefferson did not say whose company he kept!" August gave Jefferson a mock-stern expression. "Lord Cooper, Lord King, it is good to see you. Lady Nora, you are stunning, and Mr. Gold, it is always a pleasure! Please excuse the interruption. I must steal these pretty doves away. I shall return later on in the evening, for there is much to discuss."

Emma and Belle stood, and the gentlemen rose with them, bidding them farewell.

"My God..." Emma said as August led them back to their table. "Belle, do you understand who those men were?"

"No. I presume they are all wealthy?"

"Wealthy? They are some of the richest and most powerful men in the world. Lord Leopold and Cooper are capitalists from Great Britain. They work with Mr. Gold to make sure shipments between the United States and Great Britain keep coming. I don't know who Monsieur Platte is or what he does, but he's obviously important if he is dining with those men."

"So Mr. Gold is an American? I know I've heard of him before."

Emma looked exasperated. "Belle, Nicholas Gold is probably the most powerful capitalist in the United States. He owns multiple industries that create weapons, planes, and other necessities for war. He's a tycoon. He's known for his ruthlessness in business, and if I've heard correctly, he is a cold man as well. People despise him because he is unforgiving, but they have a grudging respect for him. He has connections all over the world."

"Why do you think he's in Great Britain? Wouldn't it be safer in the US?"

"He is a mediator—that's all I know. Maybe Roosevelt asked him to come over here? They seem to be good friends."

"Ladies," August pulled them back to reality. He seated Emma and then Belle. Mary Margaret and Davie had quit the dance floor and now sat comfortably in their chairs. "Enjoy." August indicated the soup that was before them.

Belle's apetite had waned somewhat because of her confrontation with Lord Midas Cooper, so she took tentative sips from her bowl, slowly enjoying the explosion of taste on her tongue. "I don't think I'll be able to make it through a full course meal," Belle told her friends under her breath. Emma had been in deep conversation with them, informing the girls of their adventure at the other table.

"I don't blame you," Emma replied, catching Belle's train of thought, "I don't think I'd be able to stomach much food after facing down a rich capitalist either."

"You must have sounded so brave," Mary Margaret admired.

"Or extremely foolish," Belle muttered without missing a beat.

Ruby snorted in an unladylike manner. "Good on you, Belle. If that prick thinks war is glorious, he must be mental."

"Shh," Belle begged, fearing that they would be overheard.

"I was shocked when Mr. Gold came to your rescue," Emma said suddenly. "Based on his reputation...I would have thought he'd let you struggle. I think he likes you, Belle. You should have heard him, girls; he was about to ask Belle to dance with him when August came for us."

"Oh please," Belle scoffed. "No he wasn't." The possibility that Emma was right made her insides flutter. She couldn't help but be drawn in by the man—not by his money or power—but by his mysterious aura.

"Mark my words. You've caught the eye of a very powerful man, Belle."

"Emma, he's probably married," Mary Margaret said.

"He isn't. That's one thing I'm sure of. I remember reading it in the newspapers that he was one of the wealthiest single men in the United States."

"Enough," Belle ended her friend. "I don't even know the man. Let's finish our meal."

The meal progressed through four more courses, and Belle ate and said little after that; her friends did not press her. August conversed openly with the girls, questioning them about their lives. He was genuinely interested in their opinions and tastes. He steered clear of Belle, though, sensing that something was wrong and not wishing to disturb her. When his father arrived, he gave out introductions.

Geppetto Adami was an old Italian gentleman. At a young age, he had relocated to Great Britain with his family. He'd started off in business but had decided to build a restaurant when he adopted August as his own. The man was very humble and kind. His dark eyes contained laughter when he chatted with them.

"I am pleased that August has found such nice company," he said openly. His Italian accent was strong, hinting at his nationality, but they and others did not harbor bias against him. At heart, Geppetto Adami was an English Patriot. His son proved to the fact.

"Papa, you know I pick my friends well."

Belle did not join in on the chatter after that. She simply listened, enraptured with Geppetto's story and his relationship with his adopted son. Mary Margaret, Emma, and Ruby _did _enter the discussion, though, so she was left alone in her silence. By this time, people had begun to trickle out of the restaurant and head home for the night. Fewer tables were occupied and the dance floor held scant couples, giving Belle a clear look at Jefferson's table as she sought it out. Mr. Gold was in deliberate communion with Lord Leopold and Lord Midas. Monsieur Gaston Platte was missing. She wondered what they were talking about. Politics? The war? Business?

She had not been aware of how long she eyed them until Mr. Gold sensed her stare and looked across, making eye-contact with her.

Belle looked away before she could observe his expression.

For she didn't know that Nicholas Gold had, indeed, been drawn to her. She was a puzzle he was determined to solve. Brave _and _beautiful, he thought. The young woman had a head on her shoulders. Someone with a brain. And he appreciated a woman with a mind, for he had met few who could quote General Sherman and strip Lord Midas so thoroughly in a matter of seconds.

He was intrigued, but he'd annoyed himself by expressing interest in her before his enemies (for they were not his friends). What on earth had led him to protect Belle French? Why in God's name had he wished to dance with her? He would make a point to see her again.

00000

It was very late by the time Davie announced that they'd best be off. Their party thanked Geppetto and August numerous times as the two men saw them to the door. Belle was slightly disappointed that she had not been given the opportunity to meet Mr. Gold again but hid her feelings well enough to smile and accept August's chaste kiss on her hand.

"You are all welcome here again," he said sincerely.

"Thank you," they replied, grateful for his hospitality.

Davie and Lance assisted the girls into the cab and waved goodbye to their friend before entering.

Their cab sped off into the night, leaving 'The Rabbit Hole' behind.

**Author's Note: I may be in over my head here, because I'm only a Senior in HS, and I'm attempting to write an AU set in WWII. I will try to do my best to be as close as possible to the history and culture, but if I make mistakes, please forgive me.**

**UPDATE: Many thanks to shiverpassgraphics on Tumblr for making the awesome image cover :D **

**Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please Review and tell me what you think! **


	2. Shakespeare's Café

**Unconditional Surrender of the Heart**

**Chapter Two: Shakespeare's Café **

**7 April 1944**

"I would have got past Mr. Rochester's chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. No sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while I listened," Belle read gracefully to the waiting, shifting crowd of girls. Her cerulean eyes wandered from face to face, seeing bright hope there. Some of them even smiled and quivered with anticipation to hear Jane march into Mr. Rochester's bedchambers and proclaim her love and obedience to him. It was unfortunate, she thought with a twinge of sadness, that she would have to disappoint them. "...That kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. He would send for me in the morning; I should be gone. He would have me sough for: vainly. He would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. I thought of this, too. My hand moved towards the lock..." A deep, unanimous sucking in of breath filled the room. "I caught it back, and glided on."

The effect was immediate: a symphony of upset moans harmonized in the air.

"What? She didn't go to him?"

"I thought you said this was a love-story. What the bloody hell was _that_?"

"Oh please tell me she returns!"

Hundreds of questions seemed to spring to Belle's keen ears, and in spite of her best efforts, she reflexively covered them with her hands. "Girls, girls! Settle down—the lot of you." She waited until the uproar trickled away, leaving only a few grumbles of discontent in its wake. The girls glowered at her, bitting their lips to show their disdain and throwing daggers at her with their eyes. "I've been reading this story bit by bit to you for the last two months. Do you all not trust me?"

"Not a wit, Miss Belle!" Anne White teased from the back. Her bright tawny eyes were mischievous as she scowled impishly at Belle. She was still weak from the pneumonia that had ravaged her body only weeks ago, but her voice had somewhat recovered. At her outburst, snickers and giggles twittered through the group. The littler ones gazed around, confused by the ruckus and cat-calls.

Belle could not help but grin and quirk an eyebrow. "Should I stop reading the book, then?" she offered, shutting the novel with a loud snap. It rang finality.

"No!"

"Oh God, _NO!_"

"Please, please don't stop!"

"That's what I thought," Belle chuckled dryly before smoothing her skirt. She took immense pleasure in reading to the young girls. Few of them could read the wondrous, crackling pages, and it saddened her. Reading had been one of her favorite pastimes when she was growing up, and from early on, her father had made certain that she could read and write; he'd said it was her key to education and progress. It was nearly unbearable to think that many of the girls reposing before her would not receive a proper education. Some may attain a higher-level of education but a majority would not. Their misfortune haunted her like a passion, but she could do nothing. Great Britain was not shelling out money towards education. Its primary focus was the war—and rightfully so.

Every Tuesday and Friday at noon, Belle would travel to the pediatric section of Queen Charlotte's Hospital (Dr. Whale allowed her to read from noon to one on both days). Ailing girls of all ages would flock to her and settle in a quiet room, sitting on the floors to listen to her lilting voice with rapt attention; they were an engaged audience. They listened as Belle's voice lowered, mimicked, and heightened to bring Jane Eyre's character to life.

The taunting didn't cease. At this point, it never would, so Belle decided to end there. "Alright, that's enough for today."

She ordered that they all run off or return to their rooms, lest someone come looking for them and stood patiently as each child stole past, some hugging her or tugging their thanks on the hem of her skirt. One little girl with chestnut ringlets withdrew her thumb from her mouth to offer Belle a watery smile. Belle gave her a tender pat on the shoulder and murmured, "Off you go..." When Anne White passed by, she shot her a reproving, motherly look. Anne smirked but thanked Belle anyway.

When their dwelling-place was emptied, she shut the door and walked briskly along the hallway.

This past week had been peaceful for Queen Charlotte's Hospital. There had been few and ineffective airstrikes, and citizens were beginning to return to their normal routines without threat of explosions and fire. News of the war effort had not changed; the Soviets relentlessly sought to gain ground against the Germans and the Germans were slamming back without mercy. Sooner or later someone would have to give, and Belle prayed it was the Germans. They had to be defeated...for there would be nothing left but the sad music of humanity if Germany didn't crumble and the Nazi Regime overthrown. The sheer thought of them succeeding was unfathomable to Belle. They _could not _win, by God. Too many lives and cultures would be obliterated. Antisemitism would reign supreme. Nefarious Hitler would be hailed by man in all his ignorance.

The Allies could not fail...

It had been four days since their adventure at 'The Rabbit Hole', and the more Belle thought of her exchange with Lord Midas Cooper, the more she blushed and silently admonished herself. She had made an enemy, she realized. But perhaps she had made a friend or two as well? Lord Leopold King had certainly enjoyed her antics and fiery spirit, but she was unsure of Nicholas Gold. The man had watched her like a hawk and had appeared amused, but he hadn't been an open book for her to scower and read. That man was a mystery.

Emma didn't think so. She'd scoured for information about the man and had concluded that she'd been correct. Mr. Gold was a close friend to President Roosevelt and was present in Great Britain to ensure trade between the two allies. Because his industries sent the most ammunition, supplies, weapons, and machinery, he would mediate (with rules) how the trade was conducted. According to Emma's sources, he drove a hard bargain but was ultimately fair and lenient (when need be) with his prices. He was one of the most important US citizens present in Great Britain—second to US Ambassador John Gilbert Winant.

Belle continued down the halls, nodding to acquaintances and wishing them well on their blessed weekend.

She retrieved her modest purse from the nurses' changing room and descended the stairs to the first floor. It wasn't long before she entered the lobby and found her friends waiting for her. They mingled together and stood in a corner, laughing quietly at a private joke. Like she, Emma and Mary Margaret were dressed in the Nurse Corps uniform. Ruby stood proud in her modest, dark blue dress.

Mary Margaret noticed her first. Her green eyes shined in welcome. "Belle, ready to go? How was _Jane Eyre_?" she asked her, holding out her hand for her to take. Belle clasped her friend's hand and smiled.

"The girls are disappointed with Jane. They think she should have stayed with Rochester."

"Well, she should have," Emma said, winking. "I would have."

"Would you really? Would you stay with him knowing that he was married to another woman and sooner or later, if you didn't leave, you would become his mistress?" Belle questioned, eyeing Emma with mock-concern.

"Is this Rochester a handsome gentleman?" Ruby cut in, grinning.

Emma smacked herself on the forehead. "Oh—please," she groaned. "Not this again."

Belle giggled along with Ruby. "I admire Jane's resolve," she announced, leading the way out into the sunlit afternoon. For once, the rain had ended its torment. "Her fortitude is unmatched. She did the right thing even though she knew it would not bring her immediate happiness. I hope I'd do what she did and leave, but I don't think I'd have the strength."

Mary Margaret squeezed her hand. "I think you would have," she murmured. "You're steadfast, Belle. You hold to your morals."

"Unlike Rubes over here," Emma cracked, nodding to Ruby with her head. Ruby scowled, but before she could come back with a snappy retort, Emma placed a hand on her shoulder and applied gentle pressure. "I wouldn't change anything about you, Rubes."

"You're too fun," Belle agreed, nodding.

The streets of London were congested. Older men and disposed women took advantage of the lovely weather by strolling down the sidewalks and waving and conducting pleasant conversation with friends. Boisterous adolescents made themselves merry under the steady glow of sun; they pranced and skipped along the pavement dizzy with rare joy. Others merely sat on benches or reclined deeply in chairs to soak in the rare sun. The normal dreary activities that had accompanied the last few days had suddenly become alive and animated. It was a welcome change.

The girls were lucky. On Fridays, they were permitted to leave at noon. Emma, Mary Margaret, and Ruby would wait patiently for Belle to finish reading before they joined them and went with them to Central London. Once there, they would meander from shop to bakery to café and familiarize themselves with the city.

Emma waved her arm frantically to flag down a cab. When one pulled over, she held the door open so that they could hop in. "Oxford Street, please."

"So how's Davie, MM?" Belle queried once everyone was comfortable.

Her friend's features lit up with delight. "Oh, he's well. We're meeting Sunday after Church. He was thinking we should go to a café."

"...Shakespeare's Café is very nice," Belle mused.

"It is. It can be a bit expensive, though, and I don't think Davie has ample amount of money to spend. I don't know how you manage to go there every Friday and Saturday, Belle."

Belle flushed but rolled her eyes. "I don't buy much... Perhaps a cup of coffee or tea and a small pastry. Besides, I'm friends with the owner's son; I like to say hello to him every once in a while."

"You mean Will?" Ruby joined in. She clapped her hands together and sighed happily. "He is sweet on you, Belle. And he's so handsome and kind..."

"Oh please. We're only friends."

"Belle, he's a young man...don't let him grow too attached if you only desire to be friends," Emma cautioned, looking out for her. Her eyebrows were knit together with worry and she peered, unseeing, out the window. "Men are the same as us in that aspect. They hate to be toyed with." A hint of regret tinged her words.

There was an undertone of agreement from Mary Margaret, and Belle couldn't help but be irritated. It was none of their business what she did with her time; if she wished to converse amiably with a man, then no one should doubt her motives. Furthermore, Emma (moreso than Mary Margaret) was in no position to form judgments. Her discord with Jefferson had not yet been resolved.

A huff of disaproval from her right informed her that Ruby felt slighted, too. "Hang on," she said, not afraid to voice her annoyance. "You two are hypocrites. Talk about playing a man! Emma, you've been treating Jeffy like bloody shit these past few days. He's been sitting in the lobby, and you've rudely ignored him. You haven't even told us what happened between you two!" Emma grew red. Her mouth formed into a thin line, but she said nothing. "And you," Ruby turned on Mary Margaret. "You haven't even made it official with Davie. What are you waiting for? If anything, you two are playing _each other._"

Her words hung like poison in the cab's atmosphere. Belle swore the tension was palpable, and she could almost see the electricity between Ruby and Emma starting to form. If she didn't end their feud now, there would be severe awkwardness during their little excursion through London. "Hey," she soothed, just as Emma whispered hoarsely: "You're right. I was wrong; forgive me." There was stunned silence. Emma, who was headstrong and obstinate, had retreated and apologized.

"It's alright," Ruby replied with dignity.

Abashed and pink in the face, Mary Margaret bowed her head. "I'm sorry, too..."

"Well bloody hell!" the gruff, middle-aged cabbie suddenly cried. "The girly emotions in this vehicle are rattlin' my brains!"

Belle was the first to snort, and when she did, she hid her mouth behind her hand and attempted to choke back her laughter. The other three followed her over the precipice and lost themselves to their glee. "We-we're sorry," she managed after they'd died down. However, there was no need. The cabbie was beaming.

"I have a wife and a little girl," he explained. "And we've arrived."

Belle glanced outside her window. Oxford Street was packed with people enjoying the sunny spring day. A majority of those bustling by were women, for they outnumbered the men. Most headed into cozy shops that held intriguing bobbles and materials in their windows, while others peered into said windows before moving on. A few cafés boasted outdoor seating, and couples occupied them, sipping at their drinks. Children rushed by, sometimes running and playing down the lane.

Emma insisted that she pay. She gave the cabbie a generous tip before withdrawing and standing on the sidewalk with her friends.

"Where to?" Ruby questioned, inching left to create room for a woman to squeeze past.

"We'll head toward Shakespeare's Café and drop Belle off," Emma answered, raising her voice to be heard above the crowds. They were going to stick to their normal routine and press toward the Thames. "Not unless you want to come with us? Belle?"

Someone bumped into Belle, and she made a face. "I think the café would be best." The last thing she desired was to be caught up in the current of men and women. She was not a city girl and disliked cramped sidewalks and streets, so Oxford Street was not the place for her. Nearer to the Thames, she would feel more at ease. The breeze and openness would serve to alleviate her qualms.

"Then off we go."

Braving Oxford Street was like combating a river, Belle thought. The crowds tended to flow in one direction, capturing strays who sought to swim against them. And once you were taken in, you couldn't be spit out. That was one of her fears: to be swept up in a crowd. Ever since she was a young girl, she'd prized quieter, more civilized company compared to the screeching and yelling of crowds. She'd been labeled 'odd' by the town she'd lived in because she'd prefered books to dolls and talking with adults over playing with immature children. Still, she'd had a wonderful childhood. The friends she _did _make would remain so for the rest of her life.

"So I found out more about Nicholas Gold!" Emma proclaimed above the roar.

"Oh?"

"He immigrated to the US from Glasgow, Scotland when he was in his teens. Gold's father was smart because he got them out right before WWI started. They did very well in the United States and his father built Gold Industries and was able to keep him out of conscription... Gold took over when his father died in the early 1920s. Now listen to this! A week before the stock market crashed, Gold collected all his money—took it out of all the banks."

"Wow..." Mary Margaret uttered.

"So he saw it coming?"

"So it seems. When everything crashed, he had all his wealth. He was so rich, he kept Gold Industries afloat during the Depression. Very smart man."

Belle shuddered. She distinctly remembered the hard, trying times of the Great Depression. Dust...decay...delapidated buildings...hungry, poor souls begging for food... Her mother had passed away only two years before October 29, 1929, and it had nearly killed her father...but the Depression had inflicted misery upon him. It was a miracle that he and the farm had survived.

"I wish my father had had the foresight to see it coming. Would have saved me a lot of running," she hailed before chuckling.

"Running?" Mary Margaret frowned in confusion.

"You know how I lived in the valleys?" She waited until her friends said 'yes'. "Farmers had to receive the newspaper and often needed kids to carry things over distances from farm to farm. I worked with a girl named Beatrice and a boy named Paul. We'd run the valleys, sending messages, towing vegetables, and running other items. After a while, we got good. I mean _really _good. Paul timed me once. I could run to one farm, which was at least a mile away from my home, in just-over five minutes. _He _did even better. He broke five. Beatrice was the slowest, coming in at six."

"Why didn't you pursue running? Why join the Nurse Corps?"

"I love running...but I don't love it enough to deal with the male-dominated sports. I'd rather serve my country."

Emma guffawed desolately. "The men have all the fun."

They arrived at Shakespeare's Café a few minutes later.

The café was part of an ancient, three-story building nestled on the edge of the Thames River. It was set in old stone, weathered by time, but its allure came from its enigmatic aura. Outside, fancy tables stretched the front of the property, but Belle knew that inside was were all its secrets waited to be uncovered. Inside, the cafe was modern and expensive, yet held an untouched quality that Belle admired. It reminded her of her books; they were old and beaten on the outside but glistening with knowledge on the inside.

Mary Margaret peered at her wrist-watch. "We'll be back in about an hour."

"Alright," Belle waved them off, thanking a gentleman who held one of the café's glass doors open for her. Directly beyond the doors was Will, smiling and opening his arms wide in welcome. He was tall and skinny and had gorgeous hazel eyes that sparkled whenever he grinned.

"Belle!" he said over the chattering, wealthy occupants of the café, "Right on time. I left your table open." She paid little attention to the men and women present, instead listening to the café's pianist and breathing in deeply the sweet smells and aromas. Sugar and coffee invaded her senses. "How are you?" Will asked over his shoulder, as he led her to her normal, solitary table in an untouched corner. The cloth-covered table was set for two, but only her chair would be used for an extended time.

She gave him a sweet smile. "Well...thank you for asking. And you, Will?"

He blinked before raising a teasing eyebrow. "Can't complain. Not off to war so..." Belle understood; he'd rather be working hard than dodging bullets in the field. He seated her in a gentlemanly fashion. "Same as usual?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright. I'll be right back. What book did you bring today?" Belle always brought a book with her to read while she indulged in her coffee and pastry.

Unable to hide her smirk, Belle ventured innocently: "Would it be ironic if I said I brought _Romeo and Juliet_?"

"Not at all." Will's eyes danced with laughter, and he bid her promise that he would soon return.

Without anything to disrupt her, Belle rummaged inside her purse and extricated her pocket-sized version of _Romeo and Juliet _from its depths. Her finger flicked along the pages before locating her hastily-made bookmark and creasing open the text. _Act I, Scene V._ Romeo and his accomplices were sneaking into the Capulet's party. There, he would meet Juliet for the first time and grow infatuated with her. Tybalt would be furious and confront Lord Capulet about Romeo's presence...

Dimly, Belle was aware of Will setting down her coffee and raspberry scone; he did not interrupt her, for they would talk when he had a break.

She was so engrossed in the play that she did not know she was the object of someone's examination.

_'ROMEO: O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! /It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night/Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!' _

Oh how enchanting were Romeo's words! He had the tongue of Hermes and innocence of Persephone. He did not permit his parents' prejudice to cast a veil over his own eyes. From first sight, he had loved Juliet, and when he'd found out who she was, he hadn't balked or retreated. Yet...so foolish, was he. The boy—so near manhood—would die young at the hands of love.

She lost herself in tranquil abandon, flipping page after page.

"Miss French." A familiar Scottish brogue...

The sound of her name dragged her back to reality. Belle's eyes flicked from the play to settle on the man in front of her. Once again, azure met amber.

A jolt of electricity shot down her spine. The man standing before her was none other than Nicholas Gold. "Mr. Gold," Belle said dazedly, flipping her book closed and sitting back to try and contain her surprise. No doubt the expression on her face gave her away. Mr. Gold's lips twitched as if he was holding back another amused smile. His eyes captured hers in an intense stare. He stood tall and was dressed impeccably in a business suit.

"May I join you?" he pondered, gracefully waving his hand over the table.

She would not disappoint him. "You may." As he did, she proceeded carefully, "I did not know you visited this café?" What was a powerful man like him doing here?

And how macabre this sitation was! Out of all the places in London, Mr. Gold _happened _to be in Shakespeare's Café at the exact moment she was. Perhaps it was fate.

"I had business to attend to," Mr. Gold responded airily, easing back into his chair. "How are you, Miss French? You were called away so suddenly the last time we spoke."

"I am well, thank you. And you?"

Exhaling out a light chuckle, he smirked. "I am not _un_well. What were you reading?" He reached for the book and lifted it to gaze at the cover. "Ah... Reading Shakespeare in Shakespeare's Café?"

"If not in Shakespeare's Café, then where else?" Belle countered, hiding her smile by sipping at her coffee.

"Touché. Do you come here often, Miss French?"

"Every Friday and Saturday. I am friends with the owner's son William."

A wicked gleam appeared in his dark eyes. "Is he your lover?"

The ease that Belle had felt now broke. She choked on her coffee and looked at him incredulously. "What?"

"I asked if he was your lover."

"Absolutely not!" Belle hissed, mortified. "We're friends. I'm horrified that you'd think I'd participate in-in..." she struggled for words, "in such a thing!"

Mr. Gold laughed, and the sound was warm and enticing. "It was a quip, Dear. Not serious."

_Oh_. Now she blushed profusely, embarrassed at her inability to sense his teasing. _Gah! _The man knew how to ruffle her feathers! He read her like an open book, while he remained a puzzle for her to solve.

This meeting was very different from their last one. It had been much more comfortable speaking with him at a table occupied by multiple people with Emma offering her support. Now she was alone with him. "You said you had business here?" Belle asked, small-voiced.

"I rarely set foot in this café, Miss French. I was with a friend when you arrived. That is why I didn't immediately make myself known to you. When my friend departed, I thought it polite to say hello." He tsked. "Perhaps I thought you were in need of a friend." He smiled at that, showing off his white teeth.

"_Are _we friends, Mr. Gold?" Belle couldn't help but wonder aloud. Her dubious expression was not lost on him. "I can't see a man of your caliber lowering yourself to my level. I'm a simple, plain girl—like all the rest."

"You're mistaken," he pressed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. "If you were 'like all the rest', you would not have challenged Lord Cooper. You would not have held your ground."

"It was foolish," Belle waved, impatient now. She set her cup onto the white table. "I made an enemy."

"But you made friends," he interjected coolly. He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "I am astonished you think so lowly of yourself, Miss French. I was not the only man at that table who enjoyed your attack on Lord Cooper, I assure you. Leopold was quite pleased, and Gaston Platte was impressed."

"That was not my intent!"

"But intent is meaningless," he argued. "Whether you intended to make friends or to make enemies does not matter. What matters is that it happened. You are an intelligent woman, Miss French. You understand what I am saying." He sounded so logical, and he was correct. Even if she didn't mean to establish friendships or acquire enemies, she had established and acquired them nevertheless. There was no point in denying that, for it was the reality of the situation.

Belle said nothing. Her eyes dropped from Mr. Gold's relaxed form and rested on her cup of coffee. So Mr. Gold was indeed her friend—or believed himself to be. He thought she was different. "Thank you..." she declared abruptly, still not meeting his eyes.

"For what?" He sounded perplexed.

"For defending me that night at 'The Rabbit Hole'. I never thanked you properly."

She heard him shift in his seat. "'Twas no matter..." They seemed ready to lapse into silence, but he continued: "That night, Miss Swan said that your family was from Virginia. Where, exactly?" She hadn't been wrong about him; he _did _listen.

"Why do you ask?"

"I lived near Washington, D.C. for quite some time, Dearie."

"Past Manassas—on the Plains—right before the Blue Ridge Mountains. My father owned a farm; we grew apples... I hear you were originally from Glasgow?"

Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow. "Yes... Perhaps, in time, I will divulge my past with you, but not now."

Belle didn't miss the implied message that they would cross each other's paths again. "Then we shall meet again?" she asked, finishing off her scone and chasing it with her coffee.

"Oh I should certainly hope so," he said very softly—almost so softly that she barely caught his words. He was less imposing when he was alone, she thought. While amongst his competitors, he was all formality and business, but with her, he was the American gentleman. They looked fixedly at one another, gauging each other's thoughts and feelings. For her part, Belle was flattered. Those butterflies had reappeared, fluttering inside her belly and causing some unknown tight coils to loosen. That was the effect this man had on her.

Their peace was interrupted by Will, who stood at attention, waiting for permission to speak. Belle cleared her throat. "Yes, Will?"

"Belle, would you like a refill of your coffee or anything else?" he addressed her first.

"No, thank you."

He nodded. "Shall I bring the cheque?"

"That would be great, thank you."

Will glanced at Mr. Gold, apprehension seeping off of him in waves. He was nervous around such a formidable man. "And would you like anything, Mr. Gold?"

Mr. Gold eyed him, glaring slightly. He ran his slender hands down the lapels of his suit, patting off dust that wasn't there. "No." Will took that as his cue to skedaddle and booked it away from their table.

"Must you bully him?" Belle chastised the man smirking parallel to her. His eyes twinkled exultantly.

"Intimidation only works if the other yields. You, My Dear, prove that claim."

Belle had the crazy urge to swat his hand that laid vulnerable on the tabletop. "That may be true, but one can chose to badger."

"Shh," Mr. Gold hushed, smilingly openly now, "Your Dear William is coming our way." Who would have thought Nicholas Gold was such a troublemaker? His actions only proved Emma's notions, for he _was_ a clever instigator who could manipulate others into submission.

"You're cruel. He's my friend," she objected, defending Will in a forced whisper. Thankfully, Will hadn't heard their recent words. He placed the check on the table, saying that he would return momentarily, and then fled. Before Belle could so much as lift a hand to retrieve the check, Mr. Gold snatched the thin paper into his fingertips and began to reach inside his suit jacket to pull out his wallet. "Mr. Gold," Belle warned, holding an expectant hand out for the bill.

"Allow me this, Miss French. Consider it recompense for disrupting your reading and..._bullying _William."

She bit her lip at that but said no more. If the man desired to pay for her, then there was nothing she could do to stop or hinder him. He was as determined and unexorable as she was. If they _did_ see each other in the future, they would surely clash at some point; it was inevitable when they were both so willfull and bullheaded. She briefly wondered who would win the battle. It could possibly turn into a blood-bath.

Belle smiled at the thought of beating Nicholas Gold over the head with one of her thick books.

Mr. Gold caught her glee. "Something amusing, Miss French?" He gazed at her earnestly as he slid his wallet back into his jacket, leaving enough money to cover Belle's cheque and tip on the table.

"Oh nothing," Belle replied, grinning now.

He faked a pout. "I must insist."

"I was simply thinking about one of the many quarrels that will likely take place between us if we remain 'friends'."

She was not surprised to see his devilish eyes shimmer brilliantly. "And how does our little quarrel play out?"

"Not well for you," Belle informed him, causing him to huff over-indignantly. "But thank you," she gestured to the check.

All jesting suddenly gone, Mr. Gold leaned forward and searched her countenance as if committing her looks to memory. "Miss French, you said earlier that you come here on Fridays and Saturdays—," he began, but he was postponed by Will's arrival. Frustration etched its way into the lines of his face as he waited for Will to take the check with money and leave. "Would you take tea with me here tomorrow afternoon?" he concluded when they were alone.

Warmth spread through Belle. "I would like that," she admitted, fighting hard not to register the subtle joy pulsing within her chest. He had asked to spend time with her! "My friends and I will be in the vicinity. While they venture about, I'll come here." Mr. Gold eased back. She sensed his clandestine pleasure at her acceptance.

"Shall we say...two?"

"That would work, yes."

"Well...it appears your friends have arrived," he murmured shortly, his eyes flashing to the café's front windows. Belle shifted in her seat to look out and saw Mary Margaret, Emma, and Ruby waiting serenely for her at an unused table. They had not yet deemed it necessary to send someone in to fetch her.

Mr. Gold mimicked her as she rose out of her seat and finally became cognizant of the fact that several of the men and women in the café were spying on them. Never had these intruders glimpsed the infamous Nicholas Gold's soft, pleasant side. They recognized that he was not a man swayed by women, but the young woman who'd reclined across from him was beautiful, with luscious chestnut curls and bewitching blue eyes. According to what they saw, the two had conversed amiably.

Hushed gossip rose as they tread carefully around tables and guests in order to depart. Mr. Gold met their talk with stoic indifference, catching each man's eyes and glaring at him to be silent. "Miss French," he mumbled softly, holding open the door for her. Light enveloped them, and they dove easily into it, leaving behind the café.

"Belle?"

Blood rushed to Belle's face, flushing her features in pink. Her friends had spotted them.

Emma stood from her black-metal chair, mouth hanging open slightly at the sight of Mr. Gold at Belle's side. Disconcerted, she shot Belle unspoken questions. "M-Mr. Gold," she choked, "This is quite a surprise...Belle didn't say she was meeting you here." She raised an eyebrow at Belle.

"I wasn't—" Belle started hastily, but Mr. Gold held up a hand to silence her.

"Miss Swan, Miss French had no idea I would be present at this café. In fact, I interrupted her reading..." His eyes roamed over Mary Margaret and Ruby and he looked sideways at Belle. "Will you introduce me to your friends?" he indicated them.

"Miss Mary Margaret White and Miss Ruby Edwards," she managed, forcing her voice to remain calm.

"Pleasure," Mr. Gold said courteously to the two young women.

"Likewise," Mary Margaret squeaked, bowing her head. Ruby could not speak.

A sleek, expensive car pulled up to the curb, catching all their interest. It must have been a new model, for it appeared too shiny and powerful to be old. "Ladies, might I offer you all a ride?" The offer was very noble and gracious, but Belle had a moment of clairvoyance. Sitting with Mr. Gold in a spacious building had been near uncomfortable. How awkward and painful would it be if they accepted his proposal and sat with him in the back of his vehicle? Out of all the things she would subject her friends to, this was not one of them.

"No, thank you," Belle breathed, meeting his eyes.

"Then Good Day. I will see you tomorrow at two, Miss French."

"Yes."

He gave her one last pensive gaze, as if he was solving an advanced mathematical problem, before swinging athletically forward and easing into the back of his car. In seconds, the atramentous automobile vanished into the streets, melding with vehicles present.

"What was all that about, Belle? We were gone for only an hour!"

"He asked me to tea..."

"Good God," Emma laughed.

_Yes...Good God!_

Tomorrow would be interesting.

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for the lovely compliments and feedback! I really appreciate them :) You guys make me feel better about being young; I read a lot of works done by older people, and I am just blown away at how eloquent some are. I'd like to clarify one thing: Mr. Gold does not use a cane...yet. He has perfect use of his legs. Again, forgive me if I've made an error; I try my best! **

**The first paragraph quotes "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte, and later on in the story "Romeo and Juliet" by William Shakespeare. I own nothing- not even the characters in this Fanfic.**

**If you enjoyed reading, please tell me what you think in a Review? **


	3. A Cup of Tea

**Unconditional Surrender of the Heart**

**Chapter Three: A Cup of Tea**

**8 April 1944**

When Belle opened her eyes, she was aware of the gentle breathing of her roommates and the dark interior of their bedroom. She blinked rapidly, attempting to dispel the drowsiness that fogged her mind. It took a few seconds for everything to come into focus.

Above her, the ceiling was marked by fissures and cracks that streaked along its ancient canvas; they were testimony to the age of the building. A soft snore alerted her to the fact that Ruby lay in deep sleep beside her. When she shifted to investigate, she saw that the girl was sprawled in the sheets with her mouth wide open.

Belle exhaled slowly, thanking the heavens. Yesterday, her friends had interrogated her, squeezing every ounce of detail out of her before she'd finally fallen into blissful sleep. They'd questioned her about her meeting with Mr. Gold:

"What did he say?"

"What did you two talk about?"

Ruby, especially, had teased her mercilessly. She'd spouted nonsense, proclaiming that Belle would become Mrs. Gold by the end of May. It was only when Emma had ordered her to 'give it a rest' that she'd ended her torment. By that time, Belle had been blushing profusely and responding indignantly to Ruby's jesting... So it was a blessing to have her thoughts to herself this morning, and it was not surprising that Mr. Gold plagued them.

The man was a mystery. According to Emma, he was labeled by society as harsh and cold, but from what she had experienced so far, she could only deem him a 'mischevious gentleman'; he delighted in watching people squirm but was respectful to those who held their ground.

A part of Belle honestly wondered what was going on in that keen mind of his. Why was he reserving time out of his busy schedule so that he could spend it with her? Was she as intriguing to him as he was to her? The pensive glance he'd given her before slipping into the back of his vehicle inclined her to believe so. Or maybe she was over thinking the whole situation. Perhaps the man _did _have ample time and simply desired to enjoy an innocent cup of tea with her. A hopeful part of her wished his attentions proceeded past friendship, but she realized that was unlikely. Nicholas Gold was _at least _twenty years her senior. He was a powerful capitalist who benefited from the war, and she was still in the process of solving his game. What did he think of the war? Was he of the same mind as Lord Cooper?

A loud yawn tore her from her thoughts, and she looked to her left to see Ruby stretching and twisting around in the bed sheets. "What time is it?" Ruby moaned, lazily rubbing her eyes. Her voice was thick with sleep and contained a high-pitched whine.

Belle heard Emma and Mary Margaret (who both occupied the bed next to theirs) grumble. "No idea...back to sleep..." Emma said, voice muffled by her pillow.

"Few more minutes," Mary Margaret begged, tugging the sheets up and over her head.

Now that her roommates were awake, Belle had no reservations in flipping the sheets away from her form and swinging her legs off the side. "I think it's seven," she told Ruby over her shoulder, but then added, "but I can't be sure." There was a soft thump as the pads of her feet made contact with the floor. "I'll check." They had an old clock in the kitchen.

As tentatively as she could, she creaked open their rickety bedroom door and tiptoed out into the cold living room. The room was shrouded in shadow, but the shadows were dispelled by a hasty flip of the light-switch. The lamp to the kitchen flickered on, buzzing loudly for a moment, and Belle honed in on the wooden clock positioned on the counter. "Girls... It's nine o'clock!" she called, frowning. They had nearly slept the morning away.

The second the words left her mouth, there was a dull thud and muttered cursing in their bedroom. Belle edged the door open to discover what the commotion was about.

Emma lay in a heap on the floor with the bed sheets haphazardly tucked about her, while Mary Margaret peered over the edge and attempted to ineffectively hide her giggles behind her hand. Ruby laughed, pointing hilariously at Emma's incredulous countenance. "I don't think I've ever seen her move that fast," she barked, now clutching her belly. In the middle of it all, Emma tried and failed to return herself to a position of dignity. She was using one of her hands to keep herself upright and was pulling fiercely on the sheets to disentangle her legs.

Belle couldn't help but smile. "Well this is a surprise," she said, ambling forward to haul Emma to her feet. "What happened?"

Her blonde friend rubbed her left shoulder and bit her lip, listening to Mary Margaret and Ruby as they continued to laugh at her expense. "I fell...when you said it was nine—tried to get out of bed."

Ruby snorted, pausing to regain her breath. Her green eyes sparkled spiritedly. "You should've seen her, Belle. She practically fell on her face!" A bit of Emma's golden tresses brushed Belle's face when Emma swiveled to glare at her friends.

"You two done yet?" she questioned icily. She folded her arms across her chest and waited patiently for them to die down.

"We—we're sorry," Mary Margaret managed, wiping tears from her eyes. "I think we're both out of it."

"No kidding."

"Hey now," Belle intervened, holding her hands up in a pacifying gesture. "I think it's time we all got our lazy rumps out of bed."

There was a squeak as Ruby bounced from their bed and landed gracefully on her feet. Slowly, a Cheshire grin formed on her features, and she studied Belle with a dangerous, foretelling glint in her eyes. "That's right! You need to get ready for your _date _with Mr. Gold."

Mary Margaret expressed Belle's inner turmoil by sighing loudly and slamming her face back into her pillow. Even Emma appeared worn out. "Rubes," she groaned, smacking her head and closing her eyes as if she had a massive headache. "Please...for the love of God. No more..."

Pouting, Ruby rolled her eyes. "Bloody buggers," she muttered, winking before poking Belle playfully in the shoulder. "Alright, I'll leave Belle alone."

Eventually, all of them made it into the kitchen where they began to labor for breakfast. All of their food was rationed, including the milk, eggs, and butter, but bread was in supply, and so Mary Margaret cut them each a respectable slice. She climbed into her chair when the deed was done and the table was fully set.

00000

They said grace and then ate in momentary silence. Belle added a portion of cheese to her slice before nibbling carefully and feeling the bread soak on her tongue. In the light of the dangling lamp, she glanced more closely at Emma and discerned that there were dark circles under her eyes. Something was definitely upsetting Emma, she thought. She had not yet enlightened them as to the situation, and neither Mary Margaret nor Ruby was brave enough to broach the subject. Belle, on the other hand, was determined to figure out what had caused such discord one way or another.

"Excited?" Mary Margaret suddenly pondered, ducking her head to catch Belle's eyes. "If it was me, I'd be a bit nervous."

"Maybe I'm anxious," Belle allowed, frowning while she thought. "Yesterday, it was easier when I didn't know we were going to meet... Now that it's planned, I'm a little tense. Once we sit down, everything will be okay, but until then, I'm a bundle of jittery nerves." Belle offered her a small smile.

Mary Margaret's hand slid across the dull tabletop before covering her free hand and offering her a comforting squeeze. "I have faith in you, Belle."

True warmth coiled in Belle's belly before caressing outward and into the far recesses of her being. Those words... Her father had told her those very words the day before she'd deployed to Europe with the Nurse Corps. He had not wanted her to go, for she was his only child—his only remaining family, but she had held steadfast, inexorable in her desire to serve her country and pave a road for the women of the future. It had been high time the women received a larger, more important role in 'man's' constructed society.

There had not been many opportunities for the women in her area. Most of the women transitioned into the cities, working jobs that the men would've claimed if they hadn't been seized by the demands of the war. The Nurse Corps had been her way to break out into the world and rebel. "Thanks, MM..."

Emma set her glass of water down on the tabletop and leaned back in her chair. "What are you going to do about the rain?"

"What?" Belle was confused.

"Listen. Can't you hear it?" She indicated the ceiling with her index finger.

Belle paused, cocking her head to the side to listen as Emma had said. For a moment, she heard nothing, but then the steady drum of pounding rain reached her senses. "Really?" Belle sighed. It had been so nice the day before...

Ruby raised her glass in a mock-toast. "Welcome to Great Britain!" she hailed, before chugging her water as if it was beer. Once she concluded her escapade, she added: "Always raining and storming like a bitch!"

"So what are you going to do, Belle? It doesn't sound too good outside," Mary Margaret asked seriously. Her emerald eyes contained worry for Belle's dilemma. "Are you going to cancel?" Her hand flexed and withdrew, reclaiming the handle of her glass of water.

Belle quirked an eyebrow and spread her hands wide. "Absolutely not," she informed them lightly. At their startled expressions, she smiled. "Really, girls...it's just rain, and I'd not disappoint Mr. Gold. I think it would be callow not to take tea with him because it's _raining_. What about you guys? Aren't you all going around Oxford Street again?"

"Not in this weather," Emma said, shaking her head.

Mary Margaret chuckled. "Wouldn't _that _be a sight to behold? Us braving the pouring rain on Oxford Street?"

"Well...I'm still going."

"But you'll get soaked!" Ruby cried.

"No I won't. Gus has an umbrella, and he can wait with me until I get a cab."

Ruby leaned forward and pressed her palms to the side of the table. "How do you know Mr. Gold will even show up to the café in this weather?"

An unladylike snort caught their attention. They all trained their eyes on Emma. She was smirking with her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "That man," she began, "is known for his harsh deal-making. He is a figure of power and determination, and _you_," she twirled a hand toward Ruby, "think he's going to submit to the _rain_?"

"Now that you put it that way..." Ruby murmured, looking sheepish.

"I'm not canceling, and even if I wanted to, I'd have no way of informing him."

None of the girls challenged her after that, and she was very grateful they didn't. With everything that was going on, she was on the brink of being overwhelmed. Queen Charlotte's Hospital...Mr. Gold...the war...

The war was always at the forefront of their daily lives, casting a gloomy, apprehensive air over them. They could not escape it, for they were entrenched in it, and their destinies were entwined with it. In London, signs and talk of the war kept them constantly on their toes. Gossip spread rampant through the population, and those who possessed information on the war were prized and sought out. Most people wished to know about the Soviets and their progress against the Germans, while others secretly speculated when Great Britain and the United States would form a strategic plan to take back France. France would have to be one of their first points of interest; if they could establish a starting-point in France, they could slam through the German lines and give Hitler _two _fronts to fear. How staggering would it feel to face the Soviets from the east and Great Britain and the United States from the west?

With the war going on, she wondered how on earth any of them could entertain the thought of relationships or marriage. Multiple events were occurring at the same moment in time, causing tidal waves of grief and misery to spread throughout the world, and _they _thought of love? Yet, if they allowed the war to strip away their futures or sentimentality, wouldn't they (in a sense) be defeated? For the point of war was to break the back of one's enemy so that the enemy no longer had the strength or morale or _will_ to carry on. The fact that they had not given up on the future showed their confidence in their plight.

Maybe Ruby was right. Maybe this _was _the best time to commit to marriage and proclaim love.

There was a clattering as Ruby set about at the kitchen's sink to wash the dishes. "So...do you know what you're going to wear, Belle?" she asked, peering over her shoulder while she dealt with a plate. Her slender hands moved rhythmically over the glass surface.

Belle shrugged. "Something nice."

"Well of course," Ruby said, exasperated. "What did you have in mind?"

"Blue goes well with your eyes," Mary Margaret offered. "How about the one you wore a few weeks back? When you went with me to see Davie? That one looked lovely on you."

"That'll work," Belle said, nodding. The dress Mary Margaret spoke of was one of her favorites. She'd worn it to countryside dances well before her deployment to Great Britain. It reminded her of Virginia, and its cheerful, friendly folk.

"I'll help you get ready."

"MM, there's no need. I have plenty of time, and I think I'm going to pass it by reading."

"You should leave no later than one-thirty," Emma advised, standing from her chair and beginning to dry the dishes Ruby had cleaned. "The rain may slow the driver down. Do you need money?"

"No." Belle pushed her chair back and stood to fetch _Pride and Prejudice _from one of the rickety tables. It rested there, burgundy cover plush against the stained tabletop, silently crying out to Belle to be held. She was only too happy to oblige the poor thing. She lifted it with deft fingers, automatically flipping to the page that she had marked with a ribbon. She'd read the book twice now; it was one of her favorites.

Seeing her novel of choice, Emma grinned. "Darcy or Rochester?" she demanded, putting on a false glare. She set down a dry glass with a little more force than necessary and turned to lean against the counter and stare at Belle.

Belle ambled to their sofa and plopped herself in its comforting embrace. "Are you really going to make me choose?" she asked, eyes scanning to locate where she'd left off.

"Darcy or Rochester?" Emma repeated, by way of answer.

"Then...I'd have to go with Mr. Rochester."

It was true. If Belle had to pick one or the other, she would pick Mr. Rochester. The man may have deceived Jane and almost tricked her into marrying him when he was already a married man, but he did have goodness in him. He was a conflicted character. He was torn between caring for his insane, estranged wife and marrying his precious Jane, even though he knew he was tricking her. Belle thought characters with such depth and inner turmoil were more intriguing then characters of Mr. Darcy's superficiality. Not to say that Mr. Darcy was superficial! Mr. Rochester was simply more alluring to Belle than Mr. Darcy.

Emma was stunned. "Definitely Darcy... I don't think I could deal with a man who was blind and was missing a hand."

It was Emma's words that made Belle reflexively gaze up from her page. A deep frown crumpled her features as she caught Emma's eyes and stared intently into their depths. "Not even if he was your true love? Your soul mate?" She didn't permit Emma to reply, for she continued on: "Does it even matter what he looks like as long as you truly love him? Honestly, I don't care so much for looks or...capability. To me love is—love is layered. Love is a mystery to be uncovered."

By the look on her features, Belle was sure Emma regretted her words. "You misunderstood me, Belle," she murmured. "I didn't mean for that to sound so..."

"I get it," Belle stopped her, dropping her eyes back to her page. She was hurt that Emma believed Mr. Rochester's disabilities were considered a burden too cumbersome to overlook with the eyes of love.

She didn't know that her friend cursed herself internally. What had meant to be playful teasing and inquiring had transformed into a subtle argument. Emma hadn't intended to be as straightforward and honest to someone as sentimental as Belle. In the real world, she believed, there were no happy endings. She'd been wounded numerous times by reality to become enthralled in dreams and fiction. Belle was an innocent fledgling, and the world hadn't truly disappointed her yet. Her aspirations for the future had not yet been shattered.

00000

_Pride and Prejudice _offered blissful distraction for the next few hours.

While her friends busied themselves with changing and preparing for the day, Belle remained secluded on the sofa, carefully reading every word Jane Austen had to offer. It was easier to read the beautifully constructed sentences than to dwell on Emma's words and her impending meeting with Mr. Gold. The anxiousness she had felt only hours before slowly ebbed away by the time Mr. Darcy declared his love for Elizabeth.

A hand shook her left shoulder. "Belle, it's nearly one."

"What?" Her eyes were fixated on the page she was currently reading.

"I said 'it's nearly one'. You have to get ready." That struck a chord with Belle, and she blinked a few times to clear her head before looking into Mary Margaret's concerned eyes. Mary Margaret gave her a fleeting smile and tugged firmly on the book captured in her hands. "Hand over the book—or there shall be blood," she quipped, winking. "We have to get you changed."

Dutifully, Belle released the book. Mary Margaret was mindful and placed the ribbon on the abandoned page before softly snapping the book closed. She then offered a hand to steady Belle as she stood (Belle's legs had fallen asleep from being in the same position for so long).

Belle slipped her hand into Mary Margaret's and followed her into their bedroom. They searched their shared closet for the dress and found it clean and pressed near the back.

"I almost forgot how pretty it was," Mary Margaret admitted in admiration, studying the smooth blue dress fondly. "Blue truly is your color, Belle. Here—let's get it on you." Belle had already shimmied into her camisole by the time Mary Margaret lifted it carefully over her head. It took a few gentle tugs before the dress settled nicely over her skinny frame. "It fits you so well. I'm sure Mr. Gold will be impressed."

Belle couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Oh please."

"I'm actually astonished men haven't fallen at their feet in front of you," Mary Margaret chortled, squeezing Belle's shoulders as they gazed into their small bedroom mirror.

Belle meant 'beauty' in French, and everyone who encountered her thought it was a very fitting name. She might have been thin, but she had pronounced curves and generous breasts that gave shape to her body. Luscious curls framed her heart-shaped face and soft, full lips. However, the true beacon of beauty came from her soulful azure eyes; they could pierce into one's being and ignite fire and flame.

Mary Margaret made one final touch by placing a modest hat on Belle's head.

"Girls, come in and see Belle!"

Emma and Ruby peeked into the bedroom, poking their heads in through the doorway. When they caught sight of Belle, they both grinned and nodded their approval. "You look great," Emma remarked. Ruby whistled wolfishly, making Belle blush to her roots despite her effort not to.

"Ruby, you'll be the death of me!" she whispered, laughing.

"Let's pin your hair up."

They set about pinning Belle's hair and making it as lovely as possible. "You know, I wonder what I'll do when you all are gone," Ruby sighed forlornly. "You're like sisters to me—the sisters that I never had."

A chill descended momentarily on them—but Emma dispelled it: "Well, you'll just have to come back with us then."

"What? Really?"

"Absolutely," Belle agreed, smiling.

"And I can bring Gran?"

Ruby sent most of her money to her grandmother in Yorkshire. Apparently, the elusive old woman had raised Ruby alone; she'd educated Ruby and given the girl her best chance. It made Belle wonder if Ruby got her fiery spirit from her Gran.

"No one is left behind."

A loud squeal was their answer, and suddenly, the girl was hugging everyone while hopping up and down with glee. In the chaos, they lost track of time, but Mary Margaret was the one to drag them back to reality. "Belle, it's nearly one-thirty!" she exclaimed, dragging Belle and pushing her toward the door. "Ruby, grab her coat. We'll see you to the ground floor."

Emma locked their apartment door and led the way downstairs, holding Belle's purse loftily over her shoulder. "So...you'll tell us how tea with Mr. Gold goes?"

Belle shrugged. "Perhaps." She was not going to commit to anything especially after yesterday. The last thing she desired was to be harassed by her friends once more.

Their footsteps rang as they marched loudly down the stairs. At the bottom, they saw First-Lieutenant Gus Walker gaze up from the daily newspaper at the sound of their approach. "Morning, ladies," he said genially, setting the paper down on his desk. "Going out in this weather?" He rubbed his neck and then ran a hand through his hair.

"No, sir, but Belle is," Emma responded, handing the purse over to Belle.

"We were wondering if you could help call her a cab," Ruby voiced, blinking sweetly at him. No one could avoid Ruby's puppy-eyes.

Gus straightened and pushed his chair back to stand. "Sure thing. I have an umbrella." He leaned down to steal it from the floorboards beside the worn table. "You ladies can wait in here while I flag one of 'em down."

Belle smiled. "Thank you! I am very grateful."

A pleased expression passed Gus' features, and he said: "Just doing my job," before shuffling past them and opening the front door. Outside, sheets of rain were pouring from the heavens, creating a loud and constant drone. Water ran in rivets down rooftops and houses and onto the streets. "I'm glad you're brave, Miss Belle, because you'll have to be to deal with this tempest!" Gus yelled above the roar. He unclipped his umbrella and crouched safely under it before entering out into the mayhem. It was as if the rain swallowed him up whole.

"What if Mr. Gold doesn't show? I wouldn't want to be out and about in this weather..." Mary Margaret said unhappily, broaching their earlier discussion again. "Belle, you must promise us to come right back if he isn't there."

Again, Emma snorted. "Oh, he'll be there alright. His pride would be wounded if Belle showed and he didn't. _Any _man's pride would be wounded."

They waited patiently for Gus to reenter the building, and when he did, he was dripping and grinning sheepishly. "Sorry for the wait," he said bashfully just as Ruby yelped, "Oh no—we didn't mean for you to get soaked!"

"No. No," he overrode her, holding up his hand. "All is fine. Miss Belle, a cab is waiting for you just outside. Permit me to walk you to the vehicle?" He raised the umbrella and made sure it protected her before guiding her out into the pouring rain. Just as he had said—there was a cab parked next to the curb. "I hope wherever you're going is worth it!" He swung open the door for her and closed it when she was safe inside, giving her a wave before retreating back into the building.

Thank God for the umbrella—or else her meeting with Mr. Gold would have been ruined.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked her the second she was situated.

"Shakespeare's Café please."

She was unaware of the cab gliding down the empty streets and the heavy rain pattering against the glass window. Instead, her eyes honed in on the destroyed, crumbling buildings of London; most were unnaturally piled in collapsed bricks or molding wood.

The Battle of Britain had done great harm to the inner city. It was a miracle the Royal Air Force had been able to keep the Germans at bay. Belle and the other girls had heard about the attack while training in the US, but it wasn't until they were finally stationed in London that they actually understood the devastation caused to the city. The bombs of the _Luftwaffe _had been successful in annihilating residences, leveling offices, and generating fear in the population. Thousands of civilians had died, while thousands more had been injured.

The cabbie cleared his throat to recall Belle's attention. "So...Miss... Why are you out and about in _this _ruddy weather?"

"I'm meeting someone at the café."

"A gentleman? I hope you're meeting a woman there, lass, because a gentleman would have picked you up 'imself."

A small smile stole across Belle's lips. If Mr. Gold had known about the weather, she was sure he would not have allowed her to take a cab to the café. No. He would have politely demanded her address so that he could see her safely to their destination. "Oh I'm sure he would have—if he knew where I lived; I haven't disclosed that information with him."

The cabbie snorted. "Well..." He gestured to the environment outside the vehicle. "I s'pose we'll give 'im the benefit of the doubt, eh? No man can predict the weather."

"I suppose so," Belle agreed, about to lapse into silence but suddenly remembering that she had not thought to ask Gus the news from the newspaper. "Oh—sir—by any chance, have you read the paper this morning?"

"Aye, I have."

"Was there anything new on the war?" She waited with bated breath as the cabbie mulled his thoughts over before putting them into words:

"Well...more young men are dead, but we haven't heard news yet of the Soviets. We've sent over more planes to bomb the Germans; they've been targeting the Germans' means of production—factories and railroads and other sort. That's about all I know."

"Thank you."

"The sooner this war is over, the sooner we can go back to our normal lives... You're from the Nurse Corps, aren't you? I've picked up lasses at that building before, and they've told me so."

"Yes. We came over with US troops and are working in the hospitals until ordered otherwise."

The cabbie's blue eyes flashed to hers in the rear-view mirror. "We _are_ very grateful for your help in the hospitals. My nephew was saved by a woman from the Nurse Corps a couple of weeks back. The poor lad nearly lost his arm, but the lass did what she'd been taught and because of that, his arm didn't need to be amputated."

Belle frowned, feeling depressed. The war had affected so many people...so many children. She still had nightmares about the boy who'd died in her hands.

"And...we're about to arrive."

By this time, the rain has eased its unrelenting torrent. A calm drizzle had now replaced the previous madness, and Belle could see the approaching café. She hadn't even noticed when the cab had crossed a bridge over the Thames to reach Shakespeare's Café.

A shadowed figure stood under the protective cover of the café, leaning against the building's ancient side, and upon closer inspection, Belle realized that it was Mr. Gold. The man was dressed in his usual attire and had an umbrella planted to the ground with both hands resting on the handle. When the cab slowed in front of the café, he unhooked the umbrella and walked over briskly. Belle had barely enough time to compose herself before the door was being opened for her.

All the gnawing anxiety and worry she had felt earlier vanished when his dark eyes met hers with curious admiration. He smiled lightly. "Miss French," he said, proffering his hand for her to take. She grasped it, and he aided her out of the vehicle while sheltering her underneath the umbrella. "Forgive me. I would have picked you up had I known where you lived."

Belle shook her head. "There is nothing to forgive."

Mr. Gold's grave expression said otherwise, and he looked away from her to quickly tap on the cab's window. The cabbie rolled it down. "My man—Dove," Mr. Gold stated, pointing to the muscular man stepping out of his private car parked a little way down the road, "—will cover all expenses on my behalf; he'll be here shortly."

Nodding vigorously, the cabbie replied: "Thank you, sir."

"There's really no need—" Belle started to object.

Mr. Gold held up his free hand to halt her. "There is every need, Miss French." He would not be persuaded otherwise, she thought. The man desired to be a gentleman, and he would be obstinate and unyielding in that respect. When she said nothing to challenge him, he offered his arm. She took it, thankful that he had an umbrella that would guard them from the cold rain.

He led her to the café's doors and closed the umbrella when they were safely under its cover. Then he opened one of the doors and placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her inside.

She raised an eyebrow when she saw how few couples were arranged around the main room. The obvious reason for this was the weather; no one would be scurrying the streets in such an extreme, and most could not spare the money to take a cab.

Will stood just beyond the doors, smiling politely and nodding his head in reverence when they entered. It was somewhat disconcerting to Belle because Will had always been open and friendly, but it was clear that Mr. Gold's presence subdued him. She caught sight of fear in her friend's eyes and knew it was Mr. Gold's intimidating persona that illicit such a response.

"Good to see you, Belle," Will murmured, folding his hands in front of him. His eyes shifted bravely to Mr. Gold, and he continued: "Mr. Gold, your table has been prepared, and the tea is brewing as we speak."

A corner of Mr. Gold's mouth turned up, and Belle was certain he was smirking. "Thank you, William," he said evenly. His tone was civil; however, it was not warm with sincerity or kindness.

Without further ado, he shepherded Belle into the main room and maneuvered her between empty tables to reach their secluded corner—the same corner they had occupied the day before. "Were you waiting long?" Belle pondered. If the man had had time to pick a table, order tea, and wait for her outside, how early had he arrived? She was positive she had reached the café at exactly two.

Mr. Gold gazed sideways at her while he escorted her around the circular edge of their table. "I am a very meticulous man, Miss French," he informed her, twirling a finger to instruct her to turn. She complied and felt his hands trail down her shoulders and remove her coat. He set it lightly on the back of her chair before pulling it out and seating her.

"I gathered that," Belle responded dryly. Her eyes surveyed the room, flitting over the overabundance of candles surrounding them. She guessed they had lit more because of the dark weather outside. Somehow, it made the scene more intimate.

Mr. Gold took his seat parallel to her. He watched her as he leaned back and folded his hands neatly on the white table. "But to answer your question, my Dear, I was not waiting long. I arrived ten minutes early and had everything prepared." Something in his voice puzzled her, and she looked at him more closely.

His expression hid his thoughts well but Belle had always been talented at reading people. "You...you thought the weather was going to stop me, didn't you?" she asked, smiling. Apparently, Emma had hit the nail on the head.

Mr. Gold's lips twitched and he leaned forward to steeple his hands underneath his chin. "I will not lie. I thought this gale would deter you, but I am...pleased to have thought wrong."

"Your lack of faith is very reassuring," Belle teased, easing comfortably into her chair. It seemed that even _the _Nicholas Gold had his doubts.

"I assure you it will not happen again." There it was again. That intense gaze from the previous day... "Any young woman brave enough to challenge Lord Cooper is most definitely brave enough to battle the rain."

Belle nodded slowly. She was thrown off by the mention of Lord Cooper. "That again? I feel foolish every time I recall that evening." It was the honest truth. Her words replayed over and over in her mind. Each time she pictured herself and her words tumbling out of her mouth, she blushed.

Mr. Gold quirked an eyebrow at her and pursed his lips. "It appears my words, stated yesterday, fell on deaf ears."

"They did not. But now that we've taken the plunge and brought up the night at 'The Rabbit Hole'...I have a question."

He breezed his hand over the table, indicating that she proceed. "Ask away, Miss French."

She had expected him to parry the situation—as he had when she'd questioned him about his past—and instantly found herself unprepared. "I..." she began, frowning when she couldn't articulate what she was thinking. She tried again but was worried that she'd offend him and stopped herself.

Mr. Gold observed her fumbling with cool indifference. "Yes?"

It was at that very moment when Will chose to interrupt. He placed their teapot delicately on the tabletop and gracefully poured them each a cup. "Thank you, Will," Belle told him amiably. When Mr. Gold drummed his fingers impatiently, Will retreated, leaving the pot behind. Belle sipped her tea (to stall the inevitable) and sighed when the warmth ran along her tongue and down into her belly. She tasted a hint of mint.

"You have my attention." He had not yet touched his tea.

"That night...Lord Cooper's words... Well...I wanted to know if you felt the same." She did not deliver the question with skill, but he understood her. She could see his features pale, and she blinked when she realized she'd found a kink in his armor.

Every moment she had spent with the man had been when he was a picture of authority and power. He'd never looked daunted or nervous. He'd been cool and collected. In control. But the pallor of Mr. Gold's countenance now depicted otherwise. His strained and hunted expression caught her off guard, and she wished desperately that she could hear his thoughts.

_I wonder if his confident demeanor is merely a façade..._ she thought. Out loud, she apologized: "I should not have asked."

Mr. Gold recovered, his eyes flashing to hers. "No, Miss French. It is a fair question. In truth, I despise this war. Lord Cooper and Lord King see it as a gateway to money and industry. It is, and I have made capital, but we," he gestured between them, "think along the same lines. War is not glorious. Money is not worth the suffering caused by war. However...weapons and machinery _are _necessary for war. If I cannot end the war, then I must do my best to provide the means to shorten it."

Belle sensed that he was withholding something from her but she did not press him further. It was none of her business, and she felt like she had already crossed a boundary. Yet, relief swam over her. She thanked God that Mr. Gold was not cold-hearted like Lord Cooper.

"I...I'm glad," she informed him quietly.

He cleared his throat and lifted his teacup to his lips. "Why did you join the Nurse Corps, Miss French, if you feel so strongly against the war?"

"I would not say I am against the war. What the Nazis have done is evil...and this war _is _just—because we're trying to end it. Yet...that does not take away the fact that there is violence and heartbreak in war. So many people—so many young men—have perished..."

Something powerful glimmered in Mr. Gold's eyes. His left hand clenched into a fist. "Yes. Many young men have died...but you did not answer my question. I would have took you as a librarian of all things. Why did you leave your home and settle with the Corps?"

"Patriotism. Sacrifice. You know, there aren't a lot of opportunities for women in this society to show what they can do—to see the world, to be positive influences. So, when I got my chance in the form of the Nurse Corps, I took it. I always wanted to be brave and see the world. I figured: do the brave thing and bravery would follow."

"And is it everything you hoped?" His tone was gentle now.

Belle shrugged and fiddled with her cup. "Yes...and no."

"How so?"

"Well...I did get to leave my home and travel here. I also made life-long friends," she added, thinking of Emma, Ruby, and Mary Margaret. "But I have witnessed death and cynicism. I've felt despair—"

"Despair?" She swallowed and broke eye-contact with him. She had experienced utter despair when that innocent boy had died and she could do nothing to stop his departure. "Miss French?" He ducked his head to recapture her gaze.

"I was having a bad day when we first met. In fact, I didn't want to go out that night, but Emma, Mary Margaret, and Ruby convinced me to; they were worried to leave me behind."

"Why?"

"I...I witnessed the death of a child—a child who was under my care. It affected me." When her voice shook, she paused and drank heavily from her tea. "It was that bombing, you heard?"

Mr. Gold's amber eyes had not drifted from her face. "I did," he replied steadily. Silence hampered on the atmosphere. They found themselves engrossed in their tea. "Tell me about yourself, Miss French. I gather that you like to read?"

It had started to rain hard again, and Belle thought she might have misheard Mr. Gold over the thrumming on the rooftops. "Read? Yes, it is my favorite pastime. My father owned many books and kept them stored in our barn. Sometimes, when I was little, I'd fall asleep on the hay reading."

He smiled at the image. "Where is your father now?"

"He's still on the farm. I plan to return after the war—if only for a short time."

"And your mother?"

"She died before the Depression."

The smile faded. "I am sorry."

"I am, too, but maybe it was for the best. She didn't have to face the Depression. That was miserable."

"Indeed."

"What about you, Mr. Gold? You have so much influence and power. What do _you _do with your time?" Belle asked, permitting him to refill her cup. He paused in the act, his eyes flicking to hers.

"Business."

After all that she had told him, she was disappointed he would not offer information on himself. He was a secretive, careful man. She guessed the business world had planted a seed of distrust inside him. "I see..."

00000

The remainder of their conversation did not flow as easily as it had in the beginning. Mr. Gold capitalized on every attempt to steer their chatter away from his personal life. He seemed intent on understanding her while remaining a recluse. Belle found herself appreciating the talk but felt unsettled being the center of attention. She wished he would expound and speak of himself when she implied he ought to. Through it all, he treated her in a gentlemanly fashion, pouring tea for her when her cup became empty and commenting politely on all she had to say. By the time they had finished, it was nearly four in the afternoon.

He had questioned her about her life on her father's farm, her experience in the Depression, and her training to join the Nurse Corps. She'd left out her adventures as a runner on the Plains, not ready to know if he approved or disapproved of her 'unladylike' behavior.

"Miss French, please allow me to drive you home," he offered cordially as he helped her into her coat. "I would feel uncomfortable and rude if you took a cab when I could drive you."

Belle twisted to gauge his countenance. Yesterday, she had not accepted his invitation to ride with him; her friends would have felt unsettled and displaced sitting in the back of a vehicle with Nicholas Gold. However—now, it was only her, and she had spent enough time with the man to feel at ease while alone with him. Furthermore, she caught a challenging glint in his eye. If she declined, he would argue with her. "I would appreciate that. Thank you." How could she not accept his offer when he had paid for the tea and covered the tip?

His right hand found the small of her back once more, and he guided her around the tables and to the front doors. Unlike the day before, there were no couples watching their departure. The silence was much more peaceful then the gossip that had broken out as they'd ambled by.

It was raining when they exited. Mr. Gold opened his umbrella to protect them from the frigid pellets. "Great Britain and its terrible weather," he sighed, smirking at her before waving for his sleek car.

Belle laughed, thinking of Ruby's outburst this morning. At the sound, Mr. Gold peered at her closely. His eyes flashed to her mouth before connecting with her eyes. "Ruby has made similar comments," she explained. She couldn't proceed into further detail because the car pulled up.

Mr. Gold was all athletic grace as he opened the backdoor for her and steadied her inside by holding her hand. He swiftly closed the umbrella and followed her when she was settled. The door closed behind him. "Where to, Mr. Gold?" Dove (as Mr. Gold had called him) asked.

Belle told him the address when her companion glanced her way, and Dove set off.

"I presume your quarters were assigned to you?" Mr. Gold pondered.

"Yes. Our apartment is simple and manageable. All four of us live together."

"And you commute from there to Queen Charlotte's Hospital?"

"Yes. It is only a few blocks away—nothing we can't handle. We have someone escort us every morning."

He frowned, no doubt picturing one of the gangs that operated in the back alleys of London. "What of the evenings?" he queried lightly, trying to sound blasé but failing.

She followed his train of thought. "We have strength in numbers—and Emma. I'd be terrified to face her. That girl knows how to throw a punch... Most of the time Lieutenant-Colonel Jefferson Hatter or Lieutenant-Colonel David Nolan accompany us. There are always a number of military men willing to walk with us."

"Oh I don't doubt that," he responded with an undertone. He scanned the streets and ignored her for a few seconds before turning in his seat to say: "Miss French, I've been meaning to ask you something ever since we sat down at the café." When she met his gaze and said nothing to show that she was listening, he continued: "Next Saturday, Leopold King is hosting a private party. Those invited may bring guests. I was wondering if you would accompany me and be my companion for the evening." He did not give her the chance to answer immediately because he added, "I believe Jefferson Hatter is bringing Miss Swan."

A range of thoughts cascaded into Belle's mind.

_He desires my company at a party? Will Lord Cooper and Lady Nora be present? So that's why Jeffy has been waiting for her in the lobby. He wants to fix everything between them and invite her to this party!_

She was flattered and could not believe that Mr. Gold liked her company enough to desire it at Lord King's party. He truly was a mystery to her. He had many layers, and she now wanted to sift through each layer and reach the core.

She suddenly realized that she had not yet answered him, for his eyebrows were still knit together with anticipation. "Yes," she breathed to quell his anxiety, "I will go with you."

He smiled—and Belle found that it enhanced his features and made him look quite handsome. He must not have expected her to accept like she had to tea. "The party is at seven," he informed her, "and Hatter and I thought it wise that we take one vehicle. Although, he has told me that Miss Swan has been troublesome."

Belle nodded. "She's angry with him. I don't know why."

"If Jefferson falls through, I will be here at six."

They had arrived at her building during their conversation. Belle experienced a soft sting of sadness; it was time for them to part ways and she didn't want to go. He opened the door, unclicked the umbrella, and eased her out of the ebony vehicle. "Thank you for the tea—for everything," Belle said graciously when he led her into the lobby.

First-Lieutenant Gus rose to his feet upon their entering. He looked tired and stiff from sitting at his desk all day. "Miss Belle, I'm glad to see you safely returned," he announced, setting his papers aside. He eyed Mr. Gold. "Sir, you must say goodbye to Miss Belle here. Men are not authorized beyond the lobby."

Mr. Gold acquiesced and swung the umbrella down to his side. "I understand." He pivoted to stare Belle dead in the face, shooting her that inquisitive look before inclining his head and murmuring: "Thank you for joining me for tea. I will be in contact with you. Until Saturday, Miss French..."

He left, leaving Belle to think of how warm his breath had been on her face.

**This chapter is dedicated to janeaustenite6 who has been VERY patient with me :) **

**Thank you to all who have reviewed! Know that I love all of your feedback and take it to heart! And a special thanks to DruidKitty for beta-ing this chapter for me :)**


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